


Nutcracker

by TheGhostInTheKitchen



Series: Nutcracker [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Ballet, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, I'm a bit obsessed with AUs so..., Kind of wish it was Christmas, Magic, Marvel - Freeform, Marvel Universe, Mild Language, Reader-Insert, Teenagers, The Avengers - Freeform, travel to another world, will add more tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-06-26 01:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15652962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGhostInTheKitchen/pseuds/TheGhostInTheKitchen
Summary: It started with a girl, a wish for adventure, and a little magic, as all these stories do...It's the greatest Christmas party of the year and you are planning to run away. Your Great Uncle Drosselmeyer, a world renown magician and inventor, is your ticket out of your stifling life in the Russian aristocracy. But before you can convince him of your plan, he gives you a strange nutcracker doll with dark eyes and a metal arm. As the night goes on, you, your best friend Natasha, Drosselmeyer's assistant Tony, and a circus performer Clint, witness a fantastical battle in your ballroom between tin soldiers and rats, with your nutcracker taking the lead. And then things get really strange when you all start shrinking.The first time I wrote fanfic I was 13 and angsty. Hopefully, it's a bit better this time. It's the first time I've posted on AO3 so any advice is good advice. I'm also a bit dyslexic so if you see any spelling errors or stuff like that let me know so I can fix it.Based loosely (very loosely) on the Nutcracker ballet, because I love that stuff. Drop a kudos, leave a comment, all that good stuff. Happy reading!





	1. Petite Ouverture

“Do it again, (Y/N)!” 

A smile pulled at your mouth as the other girls crowded around you, tutus bunching up as they jostled each other to get a better look at your hands. 

“Just once more,” You said, holding the kopek coin up for them all to see clearly. When you were sure all their eyes were on it, you quickly flipped the coin in the air. The girls gasped, following the coin religiously with their eyes. 

You counted in your head. Once… Twice… Three times. The coin flipped over and over itself, catching the light perfectly off the gas lamps that lit the studio. Not yet, You thought. Almost. 

There! The coin spun in just the right way, the light creating the star reflection Great Uncle Drosselmeyer had told you to look for. You hand shot up, quick as a hummingbird in springtime, and caught the coin mid-rotation. The girl closest to you gasped again at the unexpected movement. 

Slowly, you brought your hand back down, keeping it in a tight fist. The girls leaned forward, trying to get a peak, or catch any sleight of hand so they could figure out your trick. It didn’t matter. You knew they couldn’t. You could still barely understand it yourself. It was all based on the right feeling, the knowledge that became instinctual on how to order your hands to move, which way to misdirect your audience, and what to show them to get the best reaction. 

You held your hand with the coin out to them. Slowly, with great drama, you unfurled your fingers. The coin was gone. 

“That’s it?” One of the girls asked, sounding disappointed. A few others shushed her vehemently. 

Not bothering to hide your smile anymore, you flipped your hand around so the palm faced the ground, wiggled your fingers, and then caught the re-appeared coin between your middle and ring finger. You flipped the coin over the back of your fingers before quickly snapping and adding another coin. You tossed them both in the air and they clattered together with a bell-like clink. Catching them on their way down, you clapped your hands together, opening them back up to reveal a pair of perfectly round and white zefir candy.

The girls squealed in delight and clapped. You gave a little curtsy, beaming. 

From the other side of the studio, Madame Lyubov clapped her hands. “Alright girls,” She called. “Enough socializing. Time to get back to practice.” 

The group scattered, speaking in excited hushed tones about the trick, theorizing about how it could have been done. Natasha, with a sly smirk, waved you over to her spot by the wall of mirrors and the stretching bar. “One day,” She said. “I’m going to find out how you do that.” 

“And I wish you luck,” You replied, giving her one of the zefir. 

“First position, girls!” Madame Lyubov called, beginning the ballet lesson. The next two hours were a blur of spinning tule, stretching limbs, high jumps, and tip-toe balancing. Winter snow fell gently outside, powdering the city of Moscow to Christmas perfection. 

“You’re still coming to my Christmas party tomorrow night, right?” You asked Natasha between spins. Your family held almost legendary Christmas parties every year. Mother would pull out all the stops to ensure the upper crust of Moscow had the time of their lives during a time of year marked by even colder weather and darker days. 

“I wouldn’t miss it!” She said. “Remember last year with the scavenger hunt?” Last year, your father had organized a scavenger hunt that took the young men and ladies all over the mansion. Servants dressed in old-fashioned clothing had been waiting at assigned points to ask riddles and lead in games that would unlock the next clue. 

“This year’s going to be even better! My Great Uncle Drosselmeyer is coming. He promised to put on a whole show with his new inventions and magic tricks.” From the first time you saw your Great Uncle’s machines as a young girl, a host life-sized of automatons that perfectly recreated the story of The Fool of the World and the Flying Ship at the White Nights Festival in St. Petersburg, you had longed to learn the secrets behind it. The trick you performed with the coins was one of the early ones he had taught you and although you hadn’t yet moved far beyond simple hand tricks, you dreamed of going off to travel with your Great Uncle, learning at his side and creating unearthly spectacles for all of Russia to marvel at, not just a small ballet class. 

“It sounds perfect,” Natasha said, performing a flawless flying pas de chat, vibrate red hair bouncing as she landed. 

You always consider yourself lucky to have snagged Natasha Romanov as a friend, and you still weren’t entirely sure how you did it. You had met her at Madame Lyubov’s ballet studio and had been immediately intimidated by her grace and poise, effortlessly managing a plie, releve, and saute while you tripped over your own feet just in fourth position. It wasn’t until after the class, as you waited outside the studio for your carriage, bundled tight in a fur coat and hat, contemplating quitting ballet altogether, when she came up to speak to you. 

“How do you do that?” She had asked. For a second you were too shocked to speak. During the class, you had heard some of the other girls whispering that Natasha was connected to the royal family, possibly even in line to the throne. She nodded her head at your hands. You had taken your gloves off, despite the biting cold, to practice the coin trick. Not wanting to say anything that might embarrass you, you showed her the trick, this time ending with a peppermint sweet in your palm. She had pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes. You gulped, hoping you hadn’t offended her in some way. “Do it again,” She ordered. Every day after that, you showed her the trick or would introduce a new one, as Natasha tried to guess how it was done or imitate you. The interrogations and performances had somehow turned into lunches and afternoon visits, parties and secrets, creating a world away from the other girls in the studio. You had been practically inseparable ever since. 

“It’s going to be magical,” You sighed wistfully, jumping up and down, trying to nail a soubresaut. 

She rolled her eyes, not even trying to hide it. You had known each other for too long for that. “You think everything can be magical,” She chided. “Some of us need to be a bit more practical.” 

“Why can’t they be both?” You asked, grinning at her. 

“(Y/N)...” She said seriously. You stopped jumping and turned to face her. She stood facing the mirror, holding on to the bar and stretching her legs behind her. You could see her serious and concerned face reflected in the wall of mirrors. “We’re not kids anymore. We all have to grow up sometimes. Maybe…” She hesitated, picking a different line of thought. “Have you ever thought about what’s going to happen when your parents pick a suitor for you?” 

You scoffed, joining her at the bar. “Who says I’m even going to get married? Your not.” Growing up, Natasha had told you over and over how she would never let herself be tied down by a husband. She planned on becoming a prima ballerina, traveling the world to adoring crowds, amazing kings and queens, one day opening her own studio to train the next generation of world renown ballerinas. 

“My situation is different and you know it.” It was true. Although you had learned that Natasha wasn’t in line for the throne, or, at least, not directly, her family was still significantly more well off than yours. Those of her lineage could afford to do whatever they wanted with their lives. Natasha didn’t even have to be a ballerina to travel the world, she could just do it if she wanted to. You, however, were expected to earn your keep once you officially became an adult. Your 18th birthday was coming up far too quickly for your liking. And although you had often thought of going to college to learn a trade, your father had immediately killed the idea. 

“Girls do not work,” He had sneered when you brought in pamphlets from some of Russia’s leading universities that admitted women. “To do so would be vulgar and needless. What would your husband think? What would the society papers say? Your place is at home, a wonderful estate like this one, to manage servants, throw parties, and mind children.” And that had been that. No matter what argument or evidence you had brought to him, and you had done it many times, that had always been his answer.

“That’s why I need this Christmas party to go off perfectly,” You told Natasha, coming back to the present. You looked over your shoulder, finding Madame Lyubov busy with another girl, arranging her limbs to replicate a temps leve arabesque. You pulled Natasha aside, away from the greater group. 

She leaned her head in close as you whispered. “I’m going to convince Great Uncle Drosselmeyer to take me on as an apprentice. I’m going to leave Moscow, Natasha. I’ll leave Russia. I’m going to travel the world, just like you! I’ll become the greatest magician in the world! Isn’t that great!” You smiled brightly, clasping her hands and bouncing on your toes. 

She tries to smile, but you can see the effort in it. “A magician, huh?” 

You shove her shoulder playfully. “Oh, come on. It’s an idea, isn’t it? And who wouldn’t want to get out from under their parent’s thumb?” You sigh, leaning against the mirror wall. “I just… I just want to get out, Natasha. I can’t live my life always under someone else. I can’t just be trapped in the same house in the same city for the rest of my life. Nothing ever changing, never having any options, it’ll drive me crazy! I need adventure. I need to get out of here, at least just once, so I can say I’ve done something, that I’ve seen something. You get that right?” 

“I suppose. But being a magician?” 

“I said it was an idea, didn’t I? And it’s not like I can just wait around for something to happen. I have to do it myself. Despite what the storybooks might say, I really don’t think some prince is going to come to carry me off into the sunset.” 

Madame Lyubov clapped her hands again, bringing back the attention of the room. “Very good job today, girls. Have a wonderful Christmas break. Remember to keep practicing your stretches, we can’t afford to lose flexibility. Once we come back in the new year, we’ll start working on our production of Swan Lake. Dismissed!” 

As you and the other girls started packing up, you whispered to Natasha, “I won’t just let the world happen around me. I won’t.” 

Natasha was quiet for a moment, unlacing her slippers. “Well,” She finally said. “At least promise you’ll send me a postcard and some gifts while your out traipsing the world.” You could still see the doubt and concern in her eyes, but she smiled encouragingly nonetheless. You gave her a big hug, which she returned with mock reluctance. 

“This Christmas party is going to be the start of it, Natasha!” You said confidently. “Something wonderful will happen, I just know it!”


	2. Une fête de Noël

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys see the trailer for The Nutcracker and the Four Realms? It's gonna be awful, right? I mean, I'm going to see it, but it's going to be awful.

To be completely honest, your mother was a frantic mess. From the time you woke up that morning, she was rushing around, checking, double checking, then triple checking with all servants, cooks, and footmen to make sure everything for the party was absolutely perfect. 

“No, no, the cloves should be pressed in an X shape around the orange, see?” She argued with a maid, waving a small and fragrant orange speared with sharp cloves before shoving it into the heavy branches of the Christmas tree. “And where are the garlands? I want every fireplace, window, and stair rail smothered with holly and ivy. Oh, and candles! On the window stills! No, no, the scented tallow candles, the ones that don’t smoke!” The servants ducked their heads and raced away to bust themselves with the jobs, if only to avoid your mother’s insesiant crowing. 

You tried to sneak by the entrance to the ball room, hoping to get some breakfast before being set upon by Mother. 

“(Y/N)!” Too late. 

Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you turned to face her. Her voluminous layers of kremlin skirts swished with every small movement, the silks catching the light to play with the colored embroidery. 

“Good morning, mother,” you said giving a small curtsy in your nightdress. 

She practically shrieked in disappointment. “And still in your night clothes?” She tutted. “What ever will your suitors think?” 

You tried not to let your wince show. “It’s only eight O’clock, Mother, no one will even be here until five.” 

“Which means we are running out of time to get ready!” She gently, but urgently, started pushing you back to the stairway and up to your room, both of which were away from the kitchen. 

“But I haven’t eaten breakfast yet!” 

“That will just make it easier to lace up your corset, dear,” She said in a sing song tone. 

You were unceremoniously pushed back into your room just as your lady’s maid was pulling up the duvet on your bed. She gave a little yelp of surprise as Mother sped to your wardrobe and began pulling dresses and wraps. You mouthed “Help me” to her, to which she smiled, gliding over to Mother to help pull dresses she knew you prefered. At least Mother wouldn’t be torturing the servants anymore. 

And so the day went on. You spent the morning stepping in and out of gowns, being cinched in by an ever tightening corset and laces, dripping with all manner of jewels and metals. The only thing you ate all day was the tasting menu for that night’s banquet. You couldn’t help but think what just one necklace could buy a family outside of your housing distract. What a non-nobel family spent on Christmas alone could be covered by the cost of just your earrings. You quietly slipped the pair into your lady’s maid’s apron pocket, giving her a wink. She smiled back, giving your hand a squeeze, as your mother found fault with yet another silk shawl. 

Finally, as the sun started to set and carriages started to roll up, you had been dolled and decked out in the most suitable and fashionable attire you mother could find for you. The bottom puffed out like a giant bell over the multiple layers of fabric. The dress was satin of a smokey blue with silver filigree trailing and looping around the skirt like windswept snow. Your hair was tangled high on your head with an intricate network of pearls to match the ones on your throat and ears. With daps of honeysuckle perfume at you ears, neck, and wrists, your mother reluctantly decided that you were passable enough to join the party downstairs. You wasted no time, picking up your skirts and practically running down the halls with your mother’s worried shrieks following you. 

You rushed to the entrance of the ballroom where two footmen opened the grand doors, releasing a bloom of music, laughter, and smells. Sweeping inside, you took in all the sights. Women in gorgeous silk, satin, and taffeta dresses, embroidered with birds or flowers or intricate glittering patterns. Jewelry of every stone, shape, and setting sparkled in the mixture of gas and candle light like tiny multi-colored stars. Men in dark evening suits with polished military medals. Red cravats and gold chained pocket watches, waistcoats of every color, and shoes so shined you could practically see your reflection in them. The middle of the room had been cleared, letting the masses dance in a perfectly synchronized walts as onlookers oohed and ahhed from the sidelines while a ten piece string orchestra played on. 

A buffet table stacked high with food sat along one wall. Through the crowd, you could see whole garlic and rosemary roast chickens, a swan replicated out of meringue, roasted potatoes and onions slathered with cream sauce, fluffy butter yellow yeast rolls, candied orange peels, caramelized pecans, Turkish delights, fried smelts, fist sized quails stuffed with truffles and honey, crackers and cheese from every corner of Europe, oysters, sweetbreads, macaroons, and petit fours. Past that were large bowls containing Roman punch, piping hot chocolate with floating marshmallows, and puckering lemonade. 

The giant Christmas tree by the street window towered over it all, brilliant with its own ornamentation. The oranges with cloves had been hung by red ribbons, the scent wafting through the ballroom to compete with the feast. Wooden and glass ornaments dotted every branch between gold and red ribbons and silver tinsel that dripped from the tree’s needles. 

You caught your breath taking it all in. But where was your great uncle? 

“(Y/N)!” A voice called out. You spun around. Natasha pushed her way through the crown to you. She looked gorgeous, red hair in tornado-like curls with a gold circlet of holly leaves, off-the-shoulder scarlet and gold silk ball gown studded with minuscule glass jewels that rose from the hem like flames. Every movement made her look as if she was on fire, or rather, perfectly controlling a flame like a lost inferno goddess. 

You clasped hands as she looked around at all the magnificence. “You weren’t kidding,” She breathed. “I didn’t know there was this much filigree in all of Russia!” 

“It is… a lot,” You admitted, thoughts drifting back for a moment to the same issue your jewelry presented. 

You were pulled from your thoughts as Natasha pulled you to the dance floor just as a new song started up. “Dance with me!” She laughed. You both kicked off your shoes at the side, not without some disapproving clucks from the older madames delicately holding champagne glasses. Although your legs were limited by your heavy skirts, you spun and leapt to a variation of The Garland Waltz from Sleeping Beauty. 

When the dance was over, you moved to the lemonade to catch your breath. Someone handed you a glass. “Swanky shindig you got going on here.” 

You startled, not recognizing the voice or the accent. A boy, about your age if not a year or two older, leaned casually against the wall. While dressed well, in a sturdy brown jacket, shined shoes, and crisp white shirt, it was clear he hadn’t come ready for this caliber of party. 

“Mother out does herself every year,” You said cautiously. You extended your hand to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

He gave a rakish grin and took your fingertips, bowing in what came across as a sarcastic way. “Tony Stark, of the New York Starks. Genius, billionaire, playboy.” He winked. 

“Ah, well, (Y/N) Tchaikovsky. How do you do?” You said. A wicked thought came to mind. “I don’t think I’ve heard of the New York Starks. Are you well known?” His smile almost instantly deflated and you felt a curb of pride at deflecting his haughty attitude. Of course you actually had heard of the Starks, everyone had. Howard Stark was almost single handedly responsible for completely revolutionizing land and sea travel in the last decade. You had even heard that he was beginning to work with air travel. You had never heard of a son, though. 

Tony cleared his throat, trying to get back some of his previous bravado. “Right, yeah, well,” He stumbled. He brightened back up suddenly, finding the perfect thing to say in his head, when the grandfather clock with an owl in flight over the clock face chimed the hour. “Is that clock right?” He asked, alarmed. He pulled out a pocket watch and snapped his increasingly panicked gaze between it and the grandfather clock. “Gotta dash,” He said, already stepping away. “But I’ll catch you later, sweetheart.” You blinked at the endearment, ready to open your mouth and give him a less endearing nickname, but he was already lost in the crowd. 

The party went on all around you. At some point, you saw your father chatting with politicians over port. You’re mother flitted between all groups, spending most of her time with other groups of mothers and ladies of court. She seemed to specifically target mothers of eligible sons, but you decided not to pay attention to that tonight. All that was missing was… 

A loud bang thundered through the room, cutting through the music like a hot knife through butter. Ladies shrieked as a swarm of little boys rushed into the room, armed with wooden swords and muskets, lead by a too familiar round and jovial face. 

“Fritz!” Mother shrieked. 

Your little brother Fritz lead the onslaught of boys to the buffet table, wreaking havoc on the tiny cakes and jellies. Mothers quickly swept in and pulled their respective boy away by the ear. You and Natasha looked at each other for a split second before bursting out into laughter. 

You saw your mother discipline Fritz in a hushed but harsh tone before swating him once on the backside and making her way to the stage where the band had set up. She cleared her throat loudly and waved her hands to get order back to the party. 

“Attention! Attention!” She called, giggling nervously at the end. Couples cleared the dance floor as the lights were dimmed. Natasha nudged your shoulder and pointed to the door. You saw a boy with sandy blond hair in a purple vest poking his head through the door, winking when he saw you and Natasha, then pulling back. She looked at you as if for an answer but you only shrugged. Who could tell what your parents had in store? 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I cannot express how pleased I am that you could all attended our soiree this evening,” Mother continued. A polite applause echoed through the room. Smiling graciously, Mother accepted the praise then raised her hands for quite once again. “We do try to make these events are wonderful as possible for all you fine people. And I do believe we might have outdone ourselves this year! Please, everyone, join me in welcoming, all the way from the United States of America, the Carson Carnival of Traveling Wonders!” 

With that declaration, the door burst open to the sound of trumpets and three clowns rolled in atop giant rubber balls. They were quickly followed by a pair of gymnastics in tight red and blue leotards doing front and backflips. About a dozen other performers followed, including two tigers and a child riding a pony. You saw the blond haired boy with a clutch of arrows and a bow on his back waving valiantly to the applauding audience. Once at the center of the room, he shot one of his arrows up to the chandelier. A rope tied to the end hooked over one of the branches and came back down. He tied a large metal hoop to the end which another gymnast looped herself around. He hoisted the hoop in the air while the gymnast flipped and dangled and waved. The show continued in such a way for an hour. A contortionist folded herself to fit in a suitcase, the gymnasts jumped and flipped in a Russian bar act, a magician made a flock of doves appear and then turned them into a bouquet of flowers for Mother, the lion tamer had the tigers sit up and roar on command, and the child had the pony gallop around the room while doing a handstand on its back. 

Everyone loved it. Children sat clustered together at the front of the crowd, open mouthed almost the entire time. You couldn’t remember the last time Fritz had sat so still. The crowd cheered at every opportunity, at every increasingly impressive spectacle. In the excitement, a sharp movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye. At the back of the crowd you saw a blur of color that didn’t match with the nobles assembled there. You squinted, trying to see better in the low lamp light. Where had the blur just last been? And, wait, hadn't Lady Lada been wearing that sapphire and diamond necklace her late husband gave her? 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” The ringmaster called, startling you back to the center of the ballroom. “We deeply hope that you have enjoyed our show tonight!” The crowd roared in response. 

“Natasha,” You whispered. You looked over to her but her eyes were already on the place where you were just looking. 

“Did you see it, too?” She asked. 

“I think I saw something. What do you think-” 

You were cut off again by the ringmaster’s booming voice. “And now, as our final act of the evening, we will need a volunteer!” The children in front all immediately jump up, shouting, “Me! Me! Pick me!” The ringmaster chuckled good naturedly, but passed over them. “You, my good lady!” He said, extending a hand to Natasha. 

A spotlight swung around the room to land on her. She was still staring intently at the spot at the back of the crowd and didn’t seem to notice the ringmaster for a second. She only blinked and looked up when half the crowd cheered and the others groaned in disappointment. 

“Oh, no, no,” She started. “I can’t-” The ringmaster cut her off but taking her hand and pulling her to the stage. One of the acrobats set up a target. 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen!” The ringmaster announced. “May I introduce our sure-shot, the William Tell of the states, the boy with the eyes of a hawk, Clint Barton!” 

The blond boy jumped into the spotlight with a wide grin and an enthusiastic wave. Next to him, Natasha crossed her arms and glared. He leaned over and whispered something to her, but you were too far away to hear. Whatever it was, Natasha only glared harder. 

The acrobat took Natasha and tied her to the front of the target and you began getting nervous. Embracing the cliche, they put an apple on her head. “Hold still,” Clint called from the other side of the room and he strung his bow. You gulped as he took aim. The whole room went silent. 

The bow string twanged as the arrow flew and before you could even blink, the apple lay split in half on the floor with the arrow mere centimeters about Natasha’s head. Everyone burst into applause. Clint took an exaggerated bow. 

“Wonderful,” Natasha said. “Can you untie me now?” 

“But we’ve only just begun our act!” The ringmaster said to laughter from his troupe. Leaning forward to put another apple on her head, you could have sworn you saw him whisper something to her which made her eyes widen and cheeks go pale. 

What made you go pale was the fact that Clint had now put a blindfold on and was still stringing his bow. “Wait-!” You stood up only to be hushed by the rest of the guests. Again, silence. Again, a stretch of time that felt far too long and tense. Again, the twack of the string and the split of the apple. Again the sigh of relief and cheer of the audience. 

The acrobat untied Natasha who yanked her hands back and rubbed her wrists. Clint offered his hand to her, saying something you couldn’t make out. She jerked her hand away and stalked back to her spot. 

“Are you alright?” You asked as she sat with you. 

“Fine,” She grumbled. “Just keep an eye on them. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” 

“You say that about all Americans.” 

“And am I ever wrong?” You shrugged. 

Clint continued with his act, shooting arrows through smaller and smaller hoops, from behind his back, with eyes closed, having two strike each other in the air to hit two different targets. And while Natasha’s warning still stuck out in your mind, you couldn’t help but lose yourself to the fun and magic of the circus. 

Finally, the performers all took their bows to thunderous applause. But just as they were clearing their makeshift stage, all the lights in the room went out. One lady screamed. There was a collective murmur of confusion and chaos before another spot light came on to illuminate a single spot in the center of the ball room. 

A bright red sheet had been laid out in a perfect square. Under everyone’s inspection, the middle began to bloat and rise. When the corners of the sheet rose off the floor, balloons of every color floated out and around the room. They came up and up until the popped spontaneously, releasing a collection of brightly wrapped candy for all the children. They screeched in delight and raced each other to get the best ones. The sheet fell back down, twisting in on itself to make a column. The column grew thicker and taller, finally being swept away and becoming a cape to a man with a bush of white hair, a long black cane, and an eye patch. 

You smiled. Great Uncle Drosselmeyer was here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little more set up than I was originally planning, but at least we have more characters involved. I wasn't really intending for Drosselmeyer to be Fury in this version, especially with Sam Jackson playing him in the movie, but every production of The Nutcracker I've seen has Drosselmeyer with an eye patch so... I guess Fury is here now! That'll be fun to write.   
> Anyway, kudos, comment, all that fun stuff. I'm planning to update every weekend. Let me know how you're liking the story!


	3. Entrée de Drosselmeyer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, that took longer than expected. Sorry about that! Anyway, Bucky's here finally. Sort of anyway. Hope you like the chapter.

“Great Uncle Drosselmeyer!” You rushed forward. Great Uncle Drosselmeyer picked you up in a bear hug and spun you around. Now that the crowd has gotten used to the sudden start of the next act they broke out into applause. As you were set back down, you saw your father sneer in your direction. He had never really approved of Great Uncle Drosselmeyer, his inventions, magic, and general warm demeanor. It was one of the things that made you love your great uncle even more. 

“Have you thought any more about what I said in my last letter?” You asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet in excitement. You had proposed your apprenticeship the last time you wrote to him after months of carefully planting the idea and promising your increased ability in sleight-of-hand. 

He winked and tapped the side of his nose. “After, (Y/N), after. Now isn’t the time for business, it’s for celebration! Tony!” He called over your head. “Bring in the soldiers!” 

Through the servant's entrance, you saw the Stark boy wheeling in a large flat bed cart. The objects on the cart, about the size of a man, where draped in the same red drop cloth. When Tony had pushed the cart to the center of the room, Great Uncle Drosselmeyer snapped his fingers and the drop cloth flew upwards by itself. Tony caught it, flailing his arms to bring it all together. A regiment of ten soldiers, all in military reds and golds with tall black hats and swords at their sides, stood at attention. You blinked, realizing after a moment that they weren’t actually men but intricately designed life-sized dolls. You could just make out the hinges at their jaws and neck, the glassiness of their eyes. You weren’t sure whether you were more amazed or put off. 

Great Uncle Drosselmeyer put his thumb and pointer finger to his lips and whistled loudly. If anyone hasn't been paying attention before, however unlikely that would be, they were now. “Soldiers!” He called. “Attention!” The toy soldiers all jerked upright. Your hand flew to your chest with a startle and you heard several others gasp. Great Uncle Drosselmeyer put a comforting hand on your shoulder and you relaxed. He ordered, “Forward march!” The soldiers took four strong steps forward off the cart and then came back to attention. Tony pushed the cart away, winking at you as he pasted. You still weren’t really sure how you felt about that. And how was he so close to your Great Uncle? 

“Now, (Y/N), my dear,” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer said, kneeling down in front of you. “I do need your help with this act, if you don’t mind.” 

Excitement and joy welled up in your chest. “Anything!” You promised. “I’ve been working really hard on my sleight-of-hand, I mastered the coin trick and all the card tricks you showed me!” 

He put a hand up to stop you. “That’s wonderful, my dear, but I require another of your talents this evening.” He stood up and took a step back, a hand to his chin in puzzlement. “However, I don’t believe you are properly dressed.” 

You looked down, checking over your mother’s painstakingly put together gown. Whatever could be wrong with it? You looked up, mouth open to ask a question, when another cloth fell over you, covering you from head to foot. “Hold still now,” You heard him whisper to you. You, like the toy soldiers, straightened to attention. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer said, addressing the crowd. “Mesdames et Messieurs, it is a great pleasure to be in your company this evening, celebrating one of the most cherished holidays. I have had the utmost honor of traveling the globe. Dark, untamed jungles of the Amazon, long, dry deserts of Africa, bustling cities of America, historic sites of England. Yet nothing brings me more happiness than to be back in my beloved Moscow with fine fellows and good company.” The crowd applauded politely. You could imagine them smiling and nodding in their own affirmation. “Now if only those fellows and company would arrive,” He whispered to you. You stifle a giggle.

“And to showcase not only my appreciation,” He continued to the crowd. “But also to display the marvels I have dedicated my life to, I offer this humble exhibition. You have already met our supporting cast.” He paused, no doubt waving a hand at the assembled toy soldiers. “But now, we have need to a hero!” You could hear movement on the other side of the curtain and desperately wanted to peak and see your Great Uncle’s ledignary show. But you held firm. You had to show him that you could be trusted to follow directions, that you were worthy of traveling with him. Anything it took. Anything. 

There was a round of loud gasps. You couldn’t tell if they were from shock, awe, horror, or a combination of all three. “Of course,” He boomed again. “What is a hero without his heroine?” 

Suddenly, the cloth was yanked from around you. You spun, feeling your skin prickel with a strange and buzzing sort of energy. The next thing you knew, you crashed into a broad chest, two strong hands coming up to steady you by the elbows. You looked up, ready to apologize, but the words caught in your throat. 

You looked up, far up as he was quite a bit taller than you, into haunted and hauntingly deep blue eyes. The man that held you had dark brown hair that hung around his strong jaw, dusted with the beginnings of stubble. He wore a dark uniform, similar to the toy soldiers, only black with silver buttons instead of red and gold. The uniform came across as more refined, less flashy, than the toy soldiers. This was someone who didn’t need to prove his capability with metals and ribbons. The strength practically radiated from him, creating a mixture of fascination, curiosity, and fear you had never experienced before. It was only a second later that you noticed the lines that went down from the corners of his full lips, indicating a hinged jaw. You realized he was another of your Great Uncle’s creations, an uncannily life-like doll with its own movements and personality, all contained in an expertly carved block of wood. 

The dark soldier released you as you steadied your feet. Taking a step back, you noticed how much lighter you suddenly felt. Looking down, you gasped. Your ball gown, jewelry, and shoes were gone. Instead, you had crimson red ballet shoes, laced up to your knees. You were wearing a Romantic tutu, the soft silk and gauze ballooning from your waist for a skirt that fell to just below your knee. The top of the dancing dress scooped low and puffed out into sleeves at our shoulders. Reaching up, you felt that the pearls in your hair had been replaced with flowers: foxgloves and anemone and lilac and peonies, flowers that definitely should have been long dead in the winter cold. 

The lights around you dimmed and you heard music strike up, although the band was still absent. You didn’t recognize this piece, but the soldiers acted on their own in sync. The dark soldier in front of you bowed low, hand to his chest. Hesitating, you curtsied back. He stood and extended his hand. Where you supposed to take it? You looked around for some sort of sign, but the glare of the lights and the dimness off stage cut off any interaction. Unsure of yourself, you put your finger tips in his hand. 

He reacted instantly. His hand closed around yours as he pulled you forward while stepping back. His hand came around your waist and you were so close that, if he had been a real man, you would have felt his breath, not to mention blush at the contact. Despite that, you still felt your cheeks redden. You followed his steps, uncertain, before you realized he was leading you in a cross between a classical waltz and a ballet. As you picked up the rhythm of the music and grew accustomed to his steps, you grew more confident and started taking more control of your own movements. You stretched your arms up and around, lifted your feet higher and danced on the points of your toes, bending gracefully. He spun you in a retire devant, catching you at the end bending you back. His eyes had never seemed to leave your face the entire time. At the last few measures of the music played out, he knelt down on one knee, back still ramrod straight. He held out a hand to you as at the beginning of your dance. On pointe, you crossed the short distance between you, placing one hand in his waiting one while leaning forward, you back leg extending high in the air. The music ended, the last notes echoing in the air. You barely heard any of it, so overwhelmed by the pounding of your own heart. 

The crash of applause knocked you out of your stupper. You flinched away from the dark soldier as he stood, impassive. You curtsied to the crowd. With a flourish, Great Uncle Drosselmeyer brought out the drop cloth again, making the dolls disappear with a flutter of red and a flick of the wrist. 

The party quickly regained its momentum as the buffet table was once again swarmed and groups of people formed to talk and drink. You looked for Natasha but she seemed to have disappeared into thin air. 

Fritz came up and pulled your hand. “Uncle says he has presents for us!” He shouted in excitement, face split by a beaming grin. You wondered if he was going to give you your dress back as Fritz pulled you through the crowd to the Christmas tree. 

Your parents were talking with Great Uncle Drosselmeyer but stopped in a rush as soon as you were within earshot. 

“There they are!” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer said, taking the two of you in a large hug and kissing the tops of your heads. “And how did you enjoy my latest show, (Y/N)?”   
“It was beautiful,” You said breathless. “But I would have appreciated some warning ahead of time.” 

“Honestly, Drosselmeyer,” Mother chided. “It took us all day to find her that dress. Just look at her legs! What will the social coloms say? Think of all the eligible bachelors in attendance.” She flicked open her fan and began fanning herself in a tizzy. 

“As an eligible bachelor myself,” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer said. “I think you look lovely.” You smiled and curtsied while your mother scoffed. 

Fritz jumped up and down, tugging on Great Uncle Drosselmeyer’s long coat. “You said there were presents!” 

He laughed, steadying Fritz with a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, of course. How could I ever forget. Tony?” 

You then noticed Tony on the other side of the Christmas tree, packing away materials from the show into a box. Juggling multiple boxes in his arms, he came over and handed two to your great uncle. 

“Sofia, Aleksander,” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer said to your mother and father. “May I introduce my new assistant Tony Stark, son of New York’s Anthony Stark, the travel mogul?” 

Mother perked up at the surname. “Stark, you say?” She tittered. “Charmed. Have you met my daughter (Y/N) yet?” She none too subtlely pushed you forward. 

“Briefly,” You said. “Hello again, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony bowed low and took your hand. “Tony, please,” He said with a rakish grin. “Mr. Stark is my father.” 

You barely heard him. Assistant? Great Uncle Drosselmeyer’s letters never said anything about an assistant. Had your mentions of help and apprenticeship backfired so he took a new protege instead of letting you come with him? He had to know how desperate you were to escape this place. He couldn’t have just replaced you out of the blue with no word of warning. 

“Is that one mine?” Fritz butt in again, pointing to the large box with blue wrapping paper and a golden bow. 

Great Uncle Drosselmeyer laughed again. “Indeed it is, my boy. Wonderful powers of perception!” 

Fritz was practically vibrating with excitement as he was handed the present. He tore off the paper haphazardly, letting it fall down like shimmering rain. He gasped when he finally opened the box. “Soldiers!” He exclaimed. Ten wooden soldiers, in red and gold, with swords and muskets, lined the box in two neat row. They looked incredibly familiar. 

“What do you say, Fritz?” You prompted gently. 

“Thank you, Great Uncle!” Fritz hugged Great Uncle Drosselmeyer's legs with one arm while the other was protectively wrapped around the box. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer only laughed and patted Fritz’s head as the boy ran off to show off his new toys. 

“And for our lady of the evening,” He said, turning to you. He presented another blue wrapped package but with silver bows instead of gold. Trying not to look over eager, you torn through the wrapping and opened the lid. As you had thought, it was a replica of the larger doll you had danced with earlier. “Oh,” you breathed, gently taking him out of the box. “It looks just like the big one!” 

“That’s because it is him,” Great Uncle Drosselmeyer said. “I thought he might be easier to wrap up if he was a bit smaller this time, however. Be gentle now, the Winter Soldier can be rather delicate.” 

“The Winter Soldier,” You said softly. You could almost swear that he was looking back at you. Once again you were overtaken by how haunted his expression seemed. This smaller model had a half-mask covering the lower part of his face from his nose down. Still, his eyes communicated a determination that you had never seen expressed in any person much less a carved block of wood. 

“(Y/N) dear,” Your father said. “Why don’t you go show off your doll. Drosselmeyer and I have some… issues to discuss.” 

You hated being pushed aside so casually but couldn’t think of any excuse to stay. “We’ll talk later, won’t we Great Uncle Drosselmeyer?” You asked. He made an X over his heart and winked. Grinning, you rushed off to find Natasha and tell her everything she had missed. 

You found her a while later, for lack of a better word, skulking around the back entrance to the ballroom. She had a focused look on her face that you knew from experience never ended well for the person who deserved her ire. 

“Natasha,” You said. “Where have you been? You missed Great Uncle Drosselmeyer’s show!” 

“What? Oh, nothing. What happened to your dress?” She asked. You explained to her what had happened, the dance, the magic dress change, the gifts. 

“Are you alright, Natasha?” You asked. “You seem distracted.” 

And she had. The whole time you were talking she kept looking over your shoulder and around the room, peering out the windows. 

“Of course I’m fine,” She assured you. In the same breath she added, “Do you know where the circus will be staying tonight?” 

“The American one? They set up by the stables for tonight I think. Why?” 

“Do you remember when we were little?” She cut you off. “And we used to have all those slumber parties? Do you think I could stay over tonight?” 

Thrown by her sudden change of topic, you stuttered out an automatic, “Yes!” Just happy that you could have a friend close by. Even better, it would give the two of you some time before you, hopefully, left with Great Uncle Drosselmeyer. 

“Perfect! Let’s go ask your mother.” She dragged you away back to the masses. 

As you made your way through, you were jostled by the now more-than-tippsy party goers. Cradling the Winter Soldier and arm in arm with Natasha with the other, you struggled to keep your doll balanced. You heard the group of boys before you saw them. Dodging out of the way just in time, a swarm of your little brother’s friends whizzed by, each holding one of his new toy soldiers high in the air, making banging noises to emulate the muskates. 

“Be careful, Fritz!” You called out. 

“But we’re in a war!” He argued back, smashing two of his soldiers together. You winced, thinking of Great Uncle Drosselmeyer’s work being damaged in such a way. 

“Can’t you take your war to the garden?” 

“No!” He shouted, hands on his hips defiantly. “We’re fighting the Turks! And my soldiers need a general!” 

He lunged forward and grabbed the Winter Soldier before you could react. You yelp in surprise, immediately letting go of Natasha and chasing after Fritz. He was able to thread through the crowd much easier than you, since you had to push through and he simply dodged legs. 

“Fritz Tchaikovsky, you get back here and give me back my doll right now!” You yelled over the din, frantically searching for his tangle of brown hair. You followed the sound of shouting boys and simulated gun fire, bursting out of the crowd to find Fritz holding the Winter Soldier high over his head. “Fritz!” 

Fritz turned suddenly, taking a step backwards, tripping over one of the boys. He fell backward, the doll flying from his hands and crashing hard on the marble floor far away. You practically screamed and he clattered down, one of his arms breaking off and flying away. Fritz froze, a look of horror coming over his face as what he had done settled in. 

“I’m sorry, (Y/N)...” He muttered weakly. “It was an accident.” 

You rushed forward, gently cradling the doll. His fine paint had chipped, his uniform torn, the break on his arm jagged. You turned on Fritz. “You knew exactly what you were doing,” You accused. “I told you to stop, but you didn’t. You never do! Now look what happened!” You felt foolish for making such a big fuss over a broken doll, but your heart felt squeezed in an uncomfortable way. Your great uncle had made that doll specifically for you. It was a link, a sign, something that feed your desire to escape. 

Hot tears burned at the backs of your eyes. Fritz started to whimper and cry in frustration. Mother came up, wrapping him in a hug and muttering how none of it was his fault. 

“Of course it’s not his fault,” You shouted at her. “Nothing is ever his fault, is it? Fritz can’t do anything wrong, but you can’t wait to get rid of me!” 

“(Y/N)-” Father said sternly. 

“No!” You were drawing attention, but you didn’t care anymore. All the frustration, the feeling of being trapped, the suffocation of expectation all came crashing down on you at once. “I’m tired of constantly living under your thumb like this! I can’t be this perfect daughter you want me to be, to just get married so you can finally be rid of me and have some good gosip to give the society papers! Have you ever once thought about what I wanted? What would have made me happy? Instead of what you thought would make you look better. I’m not some chess piece you can move around to your advantage, I’m your daughter-” The words spilled out of your mouth without your control until you were suddenly cut off by the back of your father’s hand. 

The slap came sudden and sharp. You hadn't even noticed that he was that close to you. The following silence echoed in your ears, your breath coming hard and fast, burning in your throat and lungs. You had never seen such a look of rage on your father’s face, never seen so much sorrow and shock on your mother’s. 

Hands balled into fists in your skirt, you ran from the ballroom, not stopping until you were securely behind the door of your room. You only stopped sobbing once when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by a, “(Y/N)? It’s Natasha.” You opened the door. Natasha didn’t say anything, just pulled you in a hug as she let you cry. 

You think you fell asleep at some point but you couldn’t be sure. The next time you looked at the clock it was several hours later, the night well and truly settled. The halls were quiet, the streets dark. Natasha was laying next to you on the bed, asleep in her gown. Something had woken you up. What was it? 

There is was again, the softest knock at your bedroom door followed by a whisper. You slipped from the covers and went over to the door, opening it just a crack. 

“Oh, hi.” It was Tony, holding a candle lamp illuminating a dark hallway. 

You rubbed your eyes which you were sure where red and puffy. “What time is it?” You asked, voice croaking. 

“Ungodly O’clock,” He said with that smirk. Despite yourself, it made you feel a little better. “Drosselmeyer told me you wanted to come with us. He told me about your letter. I didn’t really think anything of it, but…” He trailed off. You felt a little embarrassed that this stranger knew such a secret part of you, that in one night you had met and he had seen you at your lowest. “I brought you something.” From behind his back, he pulled the Winter Soldier doll. 

You gasped, reaching out for it and holding it close to your chest. While still scuffed, his uniform had been sewed with clumsy stitches. His broken arm had been replaced with a shining metal version. “You fixed him!” You said in aw. “But how?” 

Tony grinned and look away bashfully. “Not a big deal really. We have a bunch of extra scrap metal, and I’m pretty handy with tools, if I do say so myself. The arm was broken anyway.” His lifted the new metal arm. “Don’t know why, but when Drosselmeyer first showed it to me it didn’t have the left arm. He made a fake one out of wood, but it didn’t fit right. I kept asking him to fix it but…” He trailed off, shrugging. 

It came to the point where neither of you could think of anything to say. Instead you came forward and hugged him. He stiffened at the touch, hands up as if he wasn’t sure where to put them. Quickly, you pulled back into your room, whispering a, “Thank you,” before shutting the door. 

Crawling back into bed, you set the Winter Soldier on your night stand to keep watch as the cold winter night marched on.

 

 

And down in the ballroom, a tiny door opened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading. Kudos and comments are appreciated. Thanks! <3


	4. Le Soldat et la vivandière

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now stuff gets real.   
> Also, super shout out to hootyhoobuckaroo for giving me the will to live (and write). Seriously, the comments and encouragement mean more than you can know. Also, go check out their stuff! It's really great and cute.   
> Thanks for reading!

The world was quiet when you woke up again. You blinked sleepy in the darkness, taking a moment to try and figure out if your eyes where open or not. You shivered in the chill, only now realizing you hadn't gotten under the covers when you fell asleep the second time. Groggy, you turned over to see if Natasha shared your error, only to be greeted by an empty space. You reached out and touched the pillow. It was still warm. Had she left sometime between your naps? Did she go home? 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a muffled voice, a shocked reply, and a muted shuffling with a thump at the end. You sat up and strained to hear anything more. Groping in the darkness, you felt for your nightstand. You found the box of matches and lit one. Squinting with the low light, you looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, except…

The Winter Soldier was gone. You made a quick sweep of your room and ducked your head under the bed. No, he hadn't fallen. You hadn’t placed him somewhere else. Where could he have…? 

Fritz. You felt anger curl in you stomach. Did he sneak in your room and steal the Winter Soldier again? What was he getting at? Was this some sort of twisted younger brother revenge? 

You lit a lamp and snuck out of your room. You were going to find that little monster and give him a piece of your mind, no matter what Mother or Father said. Most importantly, you were going to get your doll back before he came to any more grievous harm. You shuddered to think of his thrown to the hard floor again, this time his head chipping or a leg coming out of its socket. Worse, what if Fritz had thrown him outside in the cold and snow? The wood would be soaked through and then frozen, creating large crevisouses along the beautiful paint work. The uniform would be soggy and you were sure his new metal arm would fracture and bend. 

There, again. The thump and lowered voices. You put your hand in front of the lamp to block some of the light and silently crept forward. You shivered, still in your ballet dress, and wished you had grabbed a coat or shawl. Who would think that you would need to bundle up so much to walk around your own house? 

You rounded the corner just in time to see Natasha shove the archer against the wall, holding him threateningly by the collar of his purple vest. “I know what you’re doing!” She accused in a harsh whisper. “And don’t think for one second I’m going to let you hurt my friend or her terrible family like that!” 

Clint had his hands up looking properly terrified. “I swear, you’ve got it all wrong! I didn’t do anything!” 

“Liar!” 

“Natasha?” You interrupted. “What’s going on? It’s the middle of the night.” 

Natasha let go of the poor boy, only to pin him again with an accusatory finger. “They’re thieves! The whole circus! You saw them too, right? They were taking the jewels right off lady’s throats while distracting them with the show. He’s stealing right now!” 

“Am not!” Clint countered. Giving him a sceptical look, Natasha grabbed his quiver, unscrewing a hidden bottom. Silverware, golden trinkets, and jewels poured from the bottom. Clint looked at the small pile before looking back up and saying in a deadpan voice, “That’s not mine.” 

“Of course it’s not yours!” Natasha said. “That’s the point!” 

“You were stealing from us?” It felt like a stupid question to ask, but sleep still made your thought process slow. This whole train of events seemed too far fetched, like something out of a Penny Dreadful novel. 

“Exactly,” Natasha said. “And we’re calling the police right now.” She grabbed Clint’s arm in an iron grip, dragging him back down to the bed rooms while he helplessly struggled and pleaded. You scooped up a few of the fallen items and hurried behind, holding your lamp up to give them light. 

“You don’t understand!” Clint was saying. “It’s not like I wanted to do it. It’s the circus! They make us!” 

“A likely story,” Natasha replied. 

“Maybe we should hear what he has to say,” You suggested. 

“Yes! See? At least someone here has a sense of justice!” He squirmed his way out of Natasha’s grasp, coming up to you and taking your free hand in both of his. “You don’t know what it’s like in the states for an orphan kid. You get thrown in the workhouse or shoved off to some rail yard where they work you to the bone, no chance of ever getting out or making something of yourself.” A warble had made its way into his voice as he looked up at you with big sad eyes.

Natasha scoffed. “Perfect,” She said. “A theatrical thief. Any more cheese in that speech and we’ll have enough for a fine dinner party.” She found your parent’s bedroom door and began pounding on it. “Madame and Sir Tchaikovsky?” She called. “I have terrible news! Your entertainment is a den of thieves!” 

Clint lunged for her pounding fist, trying to pull it away from the door. Almost effortlessly, she had his arm twisted and pinned to his back, sweeping his legs out from under him and planting a knee on the small of his back. “Don’t,” she warned. 

And then silence followed. The three of you listened for some reply: a groan of being suddenly awoken, Father calling for the police, asking what in the world was going on here? But there was nothing. You couldn’t even hear the movement of blankets. Natasha and you looked at each other. She nodded her head at the door. Wincing, you slowly opened it. 

“Mother?” You called inside. “Father? Something’s happened. We need help.” Again, nothing. With Natasha and Clint struggling behind you, you tiptoed into the room. Despite the noise, the lumps under the covers didn’t so much as twitch. Your anger from earlier melted away. Setting the lamp on the dresser, you came over and threw the covers off their sleeping forms. They lay exactly how you would expect a sleeper to lay, chests rising softly with breathe. You felt at least a little relief at that. You shook your mother, calling to her over and over. “Mother? Mother, please, wake up. We need help. Mother? Mother!” 

You were shaking now. You were shaking your mother almost violently at this point, but still her eyelids didn’t so much as twitch. The same for your father. If you couldn’t feel their breath, you would have sworn they were dead. 

“What the hell’s going on?” You heard someone say in English. Turning back to the door, you saw a surprised and confused Tony keeping a careful distance from the wrestling Natasha and Clint (Natasha was winning). 

“I can’t wake my parents up,” You told everyone. 

“Them too?” Tony said, rubbing a hand nervously through his hair, ruffling it more. 

Natasha finally let up on Clint, letting him stand up. “What do you mean ‘them too’?” She asked. 

“Everyone’s asleep,” Tony said. “Like, asleep, asleep. That big owl clock woke me up and I couldn’t find Drosselmeyer. I went looking for him and found a couple of those circus performers passed out in the hall. I thought they were just drunk, but then I found a maid collapsed on the stairs. I couldn’t wake her up no matter what. I started checking everyone else, too. No one’s moving.” 

You felt your heart sink and Tony’s news. The four of you looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. 

“They can’t all be asleep,” Natasha offered. “How would that even happen?” She suddenly tensed, grabbing Clint yet again. “What did you do? Was it poison?” 

“I didn’t do anything!” Clint shouted desperately. “We just planned to sneak in and take some stuff that people wouldn’t notice was missing for a while and get out. We never wanted to hurt anyone! And besides, Tony just said my people were asleep too!” 

“So you admit you are a thief!” Clint rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in defeat. 

“We have bigger problems than robbery,” You said, putting yourself in between them. You had an idea. “Great Uncle Drosselmeyer, he’d know what to do. He knows all about this strange kind of stuff.” 

Tony shrugged. “I’ve looked for him everywhere. He’s not here.” 

“You don’t think he could have done it?” Clint asked, straightening out his vest and creating a healthy distance between him and the scowling Natasha. 

“No!” You jumped to his defence. “Great Uncle Drosselmeyer would never do something like that!” 

“Well, someone’s done something,” Natasha said. 

And that was the beginning and end of it. The four of you stood together, confused, frustrated, and growing more uncertain and scared with every second.

Your group was interrupted by a sudden crashing from down the hall. You must have jumped a foot in the air with the suddenness of it. “Maybe someone else is awake,” You said hopefully. 

“And breaking things,” Clint replied, turning the other way. 

“And where do you think you’re going?” Natasha accused. 

“I don’t plan on whatever happened to those people happening to me. I’m out of here!” 

Natasha grabbed his arm. “You’re not going anywhere until we find a judge. Come on!” And with that she lead the charge towards the noise. 

The noises grew louder the closer you came to the ballroom. Crashing, clashing, shouting, and, at one terrifying moment, a gunshot. You stood outside the door, all silently daring each other to open them first. 

“Well,” Tony said, clapping his hands together. “Thanks for the party, great food. I think I’m going to catch the next boat to New York. Night!” 

You grabbed him and pulled him back as he started walking away. “No one’s going anywhere until we find out what’s happening,” You said sternly. “Besides, it’s probably just my bratty brother and his friends playing war again.” You pushed open the doors expecting just that…

Only to be met with a blinding colored light and a flurry of snow swirling around you. When the light dimmed enough for you to open your eyes, you were in the ballroom, even though you didn’t remember taking a step forward. What’s more, everything was about ten times bigger than it should have been. 

The already massive Christmas tree towered over to the height of the Kremlin. Ornaments were the size of award winning pumpkins and the star on top could have lit an entire city. A window had been smashed in, letting snow drift in and settle over the tables and presents the size of elephants. You head only reached half way up the leg of the fainting couch. 

But even that was secondary in your attention compared to what was happening on the main floor. You watched in horror and amazement as an army of rats, with red and blue uniforms and sinersterly sharp sabers, did battle with the Fritz’s toy soldiers. The soldiers, although clearly outnumbered, were holding their own against the rodent onslaught. 

“Take cover!” Clint shouted. The rats, atop a pile of snow, set off a canon whos shot was careening towards you. Your group sprinted behind the fainting couch as the metal ball struck the floor, creating a crater in the marble. 

“What on earth is going on?” You asked, only knowing that no one had any idea. 

Tony cursed in English, peaking around the leg of the couch at the battle. “Those are rats. Those are rats, right? I’m seeing rats fighting against wooden dolls that I helped build.” 

He sunk down, creating blinders with his hands. “Is this real? No, of course not, it doesn't make sense. Vodka means water in Russian, right? So I’m probably just drunk, on accident this time. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s all fine.” 

“If you’re drunk then so are we,” Natasha said breathlessly. “How did rats even get in here?” 

“Really?” Tony snapped, standing. “That’s your question right now?” 

“I’m trying to itemize the situation!” 

At that moment, a rat jumped out from the other side of of the couch leg, scratching and holding up his saber. You screeched and jumped backwards. In the next moment, the rat was looking down, confused, at the arrow protruding from his chest. In the next, he fell backward, still. 

The four of you stood frozen before turning to face Clint, still holding up his bow. “Those are real?” Tony asked, still shocked. Clint shrugged, as if that should have been obvious.   
“You shot those at me,” Natasha accused. Shaking her head and bundling up her skirts so she could move her legs easier. She marched forward and ripped the saber from the rat soldier’s hand (Paw?). “We’re not secure here,” She said. She looked around the couch leg, pass the battlefield for a safe place. “There!” She pointed to the base of the tree where a half unwrapped doll house stood as tall as your own. Well, as tall as your own if you had been regular sized. “We can hide out there until this calms down.” 

“All the way over there?” Tony said, waving his hand to the fighting. 

“We can go around, hugging the wall,” She said. “Unless you have a better idea. We’re too exposed here, another of those rats is bound to find us sooner or later.” 

“Sooner!” Clint shouted, letting loose another arrow as a rat jumped out from the opposite side of the couch. 

The rat dodged, the arrow hitting him in the shoulder instead. He skittered to you since you were closest and swung. You screamed, falling back. His first swing missed, but now that you were prone on your back you were helpless. Clint notched another arrow but was tackled by a rat behind him. Tony jumped on that rat’s back, trying to wrestle him away while Natasha clashed with a third using her new saber. The rat above you raised its saber for the killing strike. You kicked out, landing a hard kick on its inverted knees. It squealed and back away. You took the opportunity to crawl farther under the couch, looking for something to defend yourself with. 

You came up on the other side just as a wooden soldier fell, his chest stratched deep with claw marks. Wincing away, you picked up his fallen musket, taking aim at the rat who had just killed him. The rat stopped as you pulled the trigger, but grinned manisiously as the gun only clicked, empty. Looking from the musket to the rat, you quickly stood, flipped it around, and bludgeoned the rat in the head with the butt of it. 

You back up into the couch, holding the musket like a barrier in front of you. Thankfully, most of the rats had their attention elsewhere. But not all of them. On the back of a wooden horse was another rat, this one much larger than the others. He had a large golden crown, a waving red cape, and was waving a massive double headed hammer in the air.

“A Rat King…” You said. You had never even thought of such a thing. Were rats even a patriarchal society, like bees? 

And then you noticed who the Rat King was waving his hammer at. The Winter Soldier was back up against a fallen present, tense and ready to move, some sort of hunting or tactical knife held tight in his hand, but block in by other rat soldiers. One of them lunged for him. He brought up his metal arm, the rat closing his sharp teeth around it, and stabbed the knife through the back of the rat’s head. While the Winter Soldier was occupied, another rat jumped him, closing his mouth around the doll’s leg and stabbing his side with the saber. He threw his back against the fallen present and the rat fell off. He stomped on the rats chest. It tried to crawl away, but the Winter Soldier kicked it’s stomach, then grabbed its tail to pull it back and kicked its head till it stopped moving.

He shook the rat off his arm as if clearing a coat of snow, then turned back to the Rat King. The other rat soldiers backed away, clearly nervous. But you could see that he was injured. The bite had damaged his leg so he leaned heavily on the opposite. The Rat King grandly descended from his horse and practically sashayed to the Soldier. 

“No more, doll,” The Rat King hissed. “You had your chance at freedom, at safety, at everything! And what do you do? Throw it all away for some child’s story.” The Winter Soldier only glared. The Rat King scoffed. “I’ll use you for tinder. It’s the only thing you’re good for anymore, isn’t it?” He raised his hammer high. The Winter Soldier got into a fighting stance, but was clearly thrown off balance by his injured leg. 

“Hey!” You shouted. While he had been talking, you had maneuvered yourself closer. Untying one of you ballet slippers, you threw it at the Rat King, perfectly slapping into his nose as he turned to your voice. 

The momentary distraction was exactly what the Winter Soldier needed. He lunged forward, disarming the Rat King with ease and driving his knee into the King’s stomach. He flipped his knife, ready to plunge it into the back of the Rat King’s skull when he caught sight of you. He did a double take, pausing, eyes confused and searching, as if he was trying to remember something or make out a familiar face from very far away. 

Again, this became a battle of opportunity. The Rat King kicked back, hitting the Winter Soldier’s hunt knee, then throwing him off. Coming back to himself, the Soldier slashed out as he fell, catching the Rat King’s side. 

The Rat King whipped around in your direction, eyes settling on your red shoe. Scowling, he looked up, finding you. You held your empty musket tightly, feet frozen in terror, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings. But that anger on the Rat King’s body language was quickly replaced by astonishment. He looked from you back to the Soldier who was now fighting more rats. Looking at you once more, he sneered and began marching to you. 

Commanding your feet to move, you began to backup, desperately looking for a place to run or hide. He was on you within seconds, grabbing hold of your low collar and pulling you up so you were nose to pink rat nose. It was only this close that you could see that the rat head wasn’t really a head at all: it was a helmet. There were thin slits where you could just make out the impression of eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked. You kicked and squirmed, trying to get out of his iron grip. He grunted, effortlessly throwing you over his shoulder and getting back on his horse. “Men! Fall back!” 

“Natasha!” You screamed as the horse started to gallop away. 

There was another bright flash of light, dissolving into a rainbow spectrum of solid color. The rat soldiers (Were they really rats?) began to retreat. Once they reached the rainbow bridge they vanished. 

“Stop squirming,” The Rat King said, tightening his grip. “The sooner we get back home the sooner we can begin fixing this whole -” He was cut off as he was thrown from his horse, you right alongside him. 

You hit the ground hard, bouncing and rolling several times. Clutching your pounding head, body sore with a garden of blossoming bruises, you looked up to see the Winter Soldier and Rat King grappling. The Winter Soldier managed to knock the Rat King’s helmet off his head. It revealed the very human face of a man with short short blond hair and rugged beard, with two electric blue eyes that seemed to spark with power. The two pushed against each other, the Soldier managing to trip the King, sending him spiraling backward into the rainbow bridge and disappearing. 

The loudest sound in the room was our own heartbeat and ragged breathes, or at least that’s how it seemed to you. Toy soldiers lay scattered around the room. Dead soldiers in rat helmets littered the floor, seeping blood. You felt faint. You felt sick. 

Still trying to wrap your head around everything that seemed to all be happening at once, you almost missed the Winter Soldier kneeling in front of you. He took your hand, a hand he once held gently to lead you in a beautiful dance, and bowed his head. 

“At last,” He said, voice gruff with lack of use. “I’ve found you, my lady Sugar Plum Fairy.” He looked up at you, those blue eyes pleading and sure, a ghost of a smile pulling at his full lips. 

You fell into his arms as you passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooh, stuff is happening! Drop a kudos or a comment if you don't mind, it really means a lot. Thanks! <3


	5. Grand scène fantastique

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, geez, sorry this took a little bit of time to get out. School has officially started to kill me. Anyway, I hope you all like this chapter at least. Thanks again for reading, and a special thanks to everyone who has given amazing comments. You guys are a huge reason I keep this going. <3

It was the cold that woke you eventually. You stirred, sore all over. You felt restless even after your deep sleep, like it hadn't happened at all. You groaned, forcing yourself to a sitting position to take stock of your surroundings. You were in a small stable, still occupied by its resident horse. You could hear wind whipping outside, sometime finding its way through the cracks of the wooden sideboards to cut you with chill. At least you were laying on a pile of hay, that gave you some warmth, if not being scratchy as a new wool sweater. The horse, a giant Irish Cob, with brown and white patches and a curtain of hair around its hooves, munched absent mindlessly on the hay. He looked up at you as you got up, dismissing you with huff of air. 

“Good boy,” You said, patting his velvet soft nose. 

What had happened exactly? You remembered Natasha arguing with the circus boy, Clint, right? And Tony saying Great Uncle Drosselmeyer had disappeared and that everyone was sleeping… Oh, no. 

You began to piece your memories back together, somehow forming them into a coherent shape. The giant Christmas tree, the dead rat soldiers, the Rat King who seemed to know you, the Winter Soldier calling you… What? A fairy? And you had fainted, hadn't you? Or did you hit your head on the marble floor of the ballroom when the Soldier had tackled you and the Rat King off his horse? Oh, God, you felt sick again. 

You heard footsteps outside, crunching through the snow. You shot up, head immediately yelling at you by making your head swim and vision blur. Stumbling, you reached your hands out to balance yourself on the huge horse’s flank. You ignored everything your riding instructor had ever taught you and ducked under the horse back into the hay, covering yourself with it. The horse nudged you with his nose. 

You heard the wooden door creek open, heavy steps coming in and stomping snow off his boots. You closed your eyes tight, burying yourself deeper in the hay. The footsteps stopped suddenly. Then they rushed over to the stop where you had been. You heard them sifting through the hay. Did they think you had sunk in it? They rushed outside, the door banging loudly behind them. 

You peaked out of the hay. Where they really gone? Or where they standing just outside the door, ready to capture you if you ran out? 

Well, you decided, you had to do something other than just stay here. Taking a moment to steel your nerves, you got out of the hay pile and stuck to the door. You peered through the crack at the bottom, only seeing the white ground. Looked like it was snowing here to. You were still in your ballet costume, minus one shoe, and no coat in sight. This was going to prove challenging. But, if you were in a stable, that must have meant that a town was somewhere close by. Perhaps you could find a police officer and explain your situation. 

You rubbed your arms vigorously to give yourself an extra boost of warmth. You opened the door less than an inch, peaking outside. You didn’t see anyone waiting for you, but you also didn’t see anyone at all. It was the middle of the day but your surroundings were completely deserted. To be fair, from what your could see from the door, it probably should have been deserted. The only buildings you could see, small one floor homes and neighborhood streets, were broken and caving in. It almost looked like a bomb had gone off right in the middle of the town square. Where were you?

Not giving yourself the option of going back to hide, you eased your way out of the stable, darting to a collapsed section of wall to hide behind. The ruin of the town was even worse close up. Rotten food littered the insides of homes. Tables, chairs, beds, anythings that wasn’t nailed down had been overturned. A layer of frost had crystallized over every surface. Every once and awhile, as you jogged between covers, you would see a giant pillar or spear of ice jutted through walls or floors, spreading like a spider web across the destruction. What on earth had happened here? 

The sudden pounding of hooves spliced through the cold silence. You turned, just in time to catch the arm coming down to catch you around your middle. Without stopping, the rider pulled you up on the saddle in from of him, riding the Irish Cob that had been in the stable. You yelled and lashed out, swinging your limbs every which way to free yourself.

“Wait, wait!” The rider said. He slowed down the horse to a gentle walk. You pushed yourself out of his grip, turning to face him. 

Dark eyes, shaggy hair, metal arm. “Winter Soldier?” 

He winced when you said his name but didn’t deny it. He swung down from the horse. “Why were you running?” 

You were baffled for a second? “Why was I running?” You asked, incredulous. “I just saw a war in my ballroom, was almost kidnapped by a man dressed as a giant rat, and now I’m in a bomb site away from anything I recognize with a strange man who I thought was a wooden doll a few hours ago. Why do you think I was running?” 

He squinted and you tried not to notice the cute way his nose furrowed and the crees between his eyebrows. “A man dressed as a giant rat?” 

“You tried to stab him,” You clarified. 

“Oh.” He paused. “I… don’t remember that. I don’t remember a lot of things. What was that thing you called me?” 

“The… Winter Soldier?” You said, confused. “How do you not remember all that? It was kind of a big deal.” 

He blinked at you, dark circles under his eyes. He looked so tired. “The Winter Soldier?” He shuddered. “I don’t like the sound of that.” 

“Can you...?” You took a cautious step forward. “Can you really not remember anything?” 

“I remember you,” He said optimistically, but then his voice fell. “I’m supposed to protect you. I’m not sure why, but it’s important. You’re important.” 

“Well, while flattery is nice and everything, I have just as much of an idea as to what’s going on as you do. Maybe even less. Is there really nothing else you remember?” 

His brow furrowed again. He pet the velvet muzzle of the horse, deep in contemplation. “I remember… snow. And a mirror. I think I looked different in the mirror. And…” His hand drifted to his arm, his metal arm, but jerked away when he touched it. He looked down at this new hand, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. “What happened to my arm?” He followed the metal appendage from his fingertips to the shoulder joint, tracking how far it took up of his body. 

“Tony told me it was like that when he found you,” You said. “He made you that one after the old one broke off.” 

He choked. “It broke off?” 

“Well, my brother threw you to the ground earlier and it sort of broke off then, but Tony told me it had been missing before back when you were a wooden doll-” 

“I was a wooden doll?” He thumped his chest. A hollow knock answered. “I’m a wooden doll.” 

Taking in his shocked countenance and the ever increasing likelihood of a panic attack, you decided that maybe the Winter Soldier did have the worse end of the deal. “Maybe,” You offered. “We should head back to the stable and try to see what we can find out. There must be some clue to where we are, right?” 

“I know that,” He said hesitantly. “We’re in the Land of Sweets.” 

“The what?” It sounded like a children’s story. 

“The Land of Sweets,” He repeated like it meant something. He bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. “Here.” 

You took some of the snow from him, still keeping a wary distance. He licked the snow in his hand and, trying not to think of eating something that had recently been on the ground, you followed. Your eyes widened. “It’s sugar!” 

He smiled, breaking off a part of a crumbling house. “Gingerbread,” He said, offering you a piece. 

A nervous and surprised laugh burst out of you. “That doesn't seem like a very reliable building material.” 

He cracked a crooked smile and took a bite. “I guess not. Tasty though.” 

You took another look at the crumbling houses. Now that you weren’t panicking and worrying about hiding, you noticed the spun sugar windows, royal icing cementing the sides, and peppermint stick supports. 

“I think I read a fairytale like this once,” You commented, breaking off a gumdrop from a door wreath. “It’s didn’t end to well for the people who ate the house.” 

“I’ll protect you,” He said immediately, with such certainty it was as if he was planning to fight off the entire Prussian army and not a non-existent fairytale witch. 

You both looked at each other for an extended moment then burst out laughing, the only response you could come up with in this mixture of uncertainty, nervousness, and sugar rush. 

After collecting a few more treats from the crumbling houses, the Winter Soldier led you and the horse, who you had affectionately decided to name Marzapane, back to the stable. It wasn’t exactly an ideal hide-out, but at least all the hay provided warm insulation and all the walls were still standing. You sat on a pile of hay, crumpling a piece of gingerbread in your hand, while the Soldier cleaned out Marzapane’s hoof. 

A mirror, You thought, Snow, the Land of Sweets, and a wooden doll. How does it all fit together? And more importantly, how did he end up at my Christmas party? 

“By any chance,” You asked hesitantly, “Does the name Drosselmeyer mean anything to you?” 

“Drosselmeyer,” He paused. “Why does that name make me angry?” 

You felt a stone drop into your belly. “It’s my great uncle’s name. He’s the one that gave you to me. I mean-” You quickly backtracked. “Not gave gave you to me. That is, when we first met you were a doll, I mean I guess you still are a doll, but it was different then. And then you shrunk so you were normal doll sized. But maybe I shrunk too? So maybe now we’re both doll sized? But, ah…” You felt your cheeks burning red. 

“It’s okay. I get it. I think.” Marzapane snorted in agreement. “I just hate not remembering anything.” 

“You remember this place,” You offered encouragingly. You had an idea. “Maybe that means someone here remembers you, too. We can go find someone and-” 

“No!” He cut you off sharply. You winced. He immediately looked regretful. “I mean - I’m not supposed to-” He clutched his head and groaned. “I can’t remember why, but I know that I’m not supposed to go to other people. And like this…” He trailed off, looking down at his metal arm. He could almost see his reflection on the back of his hand. He suddenly jerked his head up. “Wait, I remember!” 

You jumped up from the hay. “You do? What?” 

“The mirror, I remember the mirror.” He began pacing around the stable. “It’s… It’s in a castle, on a mountain. I was going there, I was looking for something - something important. I found it, at least, I think I did. I found something and I-” He clutched his head again, doubling over in the pain of trying to force memories. 

You took a few cautious steps forward, feeling helpless to help him. “Maybe,” You started. “We can find this castle. Castle’s have people living in them, right? Someone there must remember you. And if that’s the last thing you remember then maybe that’s where this all started.” And maybe you could find out how your great uncle was mixed up in this sugar stained mess. 

“I… Maybe,” He said, obviously not liking the idea for reasons he couldn’t quite put into words. 

You shrugged. “It’s the only idea we have now, isn’t it? We can’t just stay here.” You waved at the cramped stable. 

He gave you a long look before shrugging off his dark jacket and draping it around you. “It will be cold out there,” He said. He reached into one of the pockets and pulled out his black half mask that you had seen his smaller doll form wearing easier. 

You went around the broken village collecting more food, although your search for anything other than sweets and desserts ended fruitless, while Winter, as the both of you had decided on, fixed Marzapane with a saddle and bridle. He helped you on the horse’s back, taking his seat behind you. You blushed again at the close contact, leaning back against his wooden chest. You wondered if he had always been a wooden doll. He had seemed as surprised as you when you had mentioned it. But what could turn a person into wood? Maybe whatever could shrink you down and send you to a world made entirely out of candy. 

Without a guide or a map, you both scanned the distance. Far, far away, you could just make out the outlines of rising hills. Hills could turn into mountains, right? Without stopping to think of all the potential problems of your plan, you and your Soldier set off, deeper in to the Land of Sweet and unknowing magic. 

 

 

Without either of you noticing, a falcon watched the start of your journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOoooOOoohh, foreshadowing!   
> Anyway, thanks again for reading. Please leave a kudos if you liked it or drop a comment. Thanks!


	6. Arlequin et Colombine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here is when we learn that I can't write fight scenes. Kind of a problem with an action-based fandom, but, you know: adjust, adapt, survive. Or something.   
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated. <3

By the time you made camp for the night, your legs and back where shot through with aches and stiff muscles. After leaving the destroyed candy village, Winter, Marzapane, and you followed a barely maintained road in the direction of the hills. Following the path of the setting sun, you determined you were headed North, or thereabouts. 

If the sun works the same way here, You thought discouraged. 

The sun dropped lower below the horizon, and with it the temperature. Winter didn’t seem to notice, but you quickly started shivering in your thin ballet costume. You shrunk as far as you could into Winter’s jacket, rubbing you legs and arms until your skin turned pinkish with irritation. Your rations had not helped as much as you had hoped, either. While eating nothing but sweets, chocolate covered wafers, candied orange and lemon rinds, and Turkish delights, had been fun for a while, a film of sugar layered over your tounge and the buzz started to make you head hurt. The lack of water was also becoming a problem. It wasn’t like you could drink the snow for hydration. You wondered, somewhere in your ever more exhausted and stressed mind, if sugar crystals would from in the clouds the same way water crystals did. 

“Winter,” You said, teeth chattering. “I need a break. I’m freezing.” 

He looked down at you, eyebrows rising in surprise and you shivering form. Apparently, he couldn’t feel the cold. “Oh, right,” He said, embarrassed by his lack of awareness. “Of course.” 

He pulled Marzapane over to the side, traveling into a crops of trees until you couldn’t see the road. “So no one can see us,” Winter explained. 

You pressed your lips together. His constant paranoia of being spotted, or rather, of you being spotted, wasn’t doing any favors for your already frayed nerves. Why would someone be after you? You had no idea this place even existed until a few hours ago. That line of thought always lead back to the Rat King. “What are you doing here? The sooner we get back the sooner we can fix-” Fix what? What did he think you had done? And why was he so insistent on killing Winter? 

While you untacked Marzapane and brushed him down, Winter collected firewood, making a small camp. Speaking of, what was that thing he had called you? “My Sugar Plum Fairy.” Like all of this, it sounded like something right out of a fairytale. To think that you had something to do with all of this, that you were somehow linked to that war in your ballroom or the destroyed village, made your temples drums and hands shake. 

You tried to think of how to best approach the situation. Back in the village, Winter had seem to start to panic when you mentioned what happened in the ballroom. Of course, you thought he had a perfectly good reason to panic. Between becoming a doll, fighting a rat army, and then traveling to another world, all without having any memory of who he was, anyone would be more than a little flustered. But couldn’t you get some slack too? 

He walks off between the trees to find dry wood. You poked the smoldering embers with a stick coated in sap. A mirror, a fairy, a Rat King… The Rat King knows something, you think. But it’s not like you can ask him. He obviously has no misgivings about killing Winter. But does he have misgivings with you? He seemed more frustrated, more confused, than angry when he swung around to face you in the ballroom, hammer raised and eyes flashing with blue lightning. Would he tell you what was happening? Would he help you get back home? 

You look over your shoulder, eyes tracing the impressions of Winter’s footsteps in the sugar snow. You think about running. No, you think about taking Marzapane and galloping away. You think of all the nonsensical things Winter has told you in the short time you have known each other. You think of his sudden shifts in mood and character. You think of his lack of memory. You think of the violence he proved himself more than capable of. You think of his wide blue eyes looking up at you, sharp as a knife edge and lost as a newborn fawn all at once. 

“I have to protect you.” “At last, I’ve found you.” “You’re important.” 

Had anyone ever told you that? That you were important? You remembered your old nurse telling you that you were special. But that pride had shattered when Fritz was born and you had heard her repeat the same thing. Your mother had said something similar once, although now you couldn’t remember the exact words she had used. This was coupled with the conditions of your fine marriage, with the wealth and prestige you would bring to your family name and own supposedly golden future as a wife. Natasha had told you that you were talented, excelling in the places she lacked. You found that hard to believe; Natasha didn’t seem to lack in any area. But she told you anyway and you always swelled with pride at her praise. But important? 

Your thoughts were shattered by the sudden screech of an animal. You gasp, throwing your head around wildly to find the source. The screech came again, softer and less demanding this time. Looking up, you saw a large bird of prey perched on a high up branch. A falcon or a hawk, maybe. You never could tell the difference. It cleans the underside of one of its wings and looks down at your fire. You put a hand to your rapidly beating heart. Just a bird, you think. Nothing to be worried about. 

You toss a piece of gingerbread on the ground. The bird cocks its head to the side. It swoops down on soundless wings, pecking at the discarded bread gently before picking it up by a corne and swallowing it in one massive gulp. 

You let out a breath that you think was supposed to be a laugh. The bird shuffles closer to you as you toss another broken piece of gingerbread. You hope it’s okay for birds to eat. You had heard some time ago that bread was bad for ducks, despite the crowds of people that would toss whole loaves to the gathered flocks in the spring. In any case, the bird didn’t seem to mind and any thread of normality was a welcome relief. 

The bird shuffled closer. You could see now that it wore some kind of harness around it’s back and wings. A small leather tube was attached to it’s back, a type to carry messages. You reached forward to draw a finger against its glossy wings. 

A stone landed with a hard thump in front of you. The bird screeched, immediately taking back to the sky with a powerful flap of its wings. You yelped and fell back, still in your seated position. 

Winter burst from the trees, throwing another stone that clipped the edge of the bird’s wing. The bird screeched again and dove down, talons extended in front of it as if to snatch up a rabbit. Winter pulled his hunting knife from his side, slashing out to meet the bird. 

“Wait, stop!” You yelled. You came around behind him, wrapping your arms around him to pin his arms against his chest. He didn’t struggle against you, watching the bird fly off with malice. 

“What’s wrong with you?” You accused. “It was just a bird!” 

Winter kicked sugar snow over the fire, smothering it. “We need to leave. Now.” His voice has lost the companionability that it had had when in the village. Now it was disconnected, as if not completely aware of where he was or what he was saying, an ill prepared understudy thrust into the leading role. 

You took a step back and his hand shot out like a snake, wrapping a strong metal grip around your wrist. He jerked you towards Marzapane, who stood and huffed at the fight.   
“Let go!” You yelled. 

“We need to need to leave,” He said in that disconnected voice. “They found us.” 

“Winter!” You pounded a fist on his back. You wondered if he could even feel that, or, even if he could, if you could even equate to a threat to him. “You’re hurting me!” 

He stopped suddenly, wrestling Marzapane’s bridle down. He blinked, looking back at you then releasing your wrist like it had burned him. “I-I’m sorry,” He stuttered. You backed away, clutching your wrist. There was going to be a bruise. “I didn’t think - I couldn’t think- It was like someone else was in my head and I-” He stopped abruptly, spinning around to catch a flying arrow in mid air. He looked up to see where the archer was, only for the arrow head to explode in his hand. 

The force of the explosion knocked you down and made your ears ring. You tried to push yourself up, blinking hard. Someone came up behind you, hooking their hands under your arms and pulling you up and away. You were getting tired of being pulled everywhere. You twisted around, lashing out an arm blindly. You hand connected with hair. You gripped and pulled with everything you had. 

“(Y/N), stop!” They yelled. 

Wait, you knew that voice. Steadying yourself, you looked around. Natasha stood next to you, rubbing her scalp where you had tried to yank out her hair. 

“Natasha!” You almost sobbed. You threw your arms around her and you both held each other close. Your reunion was cut short, however, with another explosion close by. 

“We need to get out of here,” Natasha said, pulling you back to the road. 

“Wait!” You pulled back. “We need to get Winter.” 

Just as she said, “Who?” Winter barreled in to her. He knocked her down, skidding to a standing position. You were about to yell at him when he turned to face you. You couldn’t make out his full expression since the bottom half of his face was covered with the mask, but his eyes read cold and steadfast murder. He took sure and steady steps to you, ignoring the way you back up and put your hands up as a barrier between you. Against your protests, he scooped you up so that you sat in the crook of his arm, arms having to wrap around his shoulders to stay upright. Almost without pausing, he took off at a run in the opposite direction. 

“Put me down!” You threw yourself backward, hoping to land in the hard packed sugar snow. Winter twisted awkwardly to catch you, falling to one knee as he held you like a groom carrying his new bride across the threshold. “She’s my friend!” You told him. 

He tucked you into his chest, bringing the knife up in a defencive position. 

Of course, just as you said that, Natasha pulled a sword out. It was the one she had taken from the fallen rat soldier in what seemed like forever ago. You also saw she was wearing military looking clothes, although you couldn’t place them. A black double breasted jacket with tails that fluttered behind her with scarlet red trim and covered buttons. She also had tight fitting black slacks tucked into over-the-knee black boots with thick soles. Next to her, Clint jumped down from the trees, pulling back another arrow. While he still wore the purple vest from the circus, he also wore a rough-spun white shirt underneath and similar, though shorter, thick soled boots. 

“Let her go, Soldier,” A voice said behind you. You tried to crane your head back to see the new speaker. The bird from before swooped down, landing on their outstretched arm. It was a man with dark skin and a fierce expression. He had goggles over his eyes and an American looking army uniform. But that pales in comparison to the large metal wings that sprouted from his back. 

“Natasha?” You asked your friend, voice wavering? 

“Just hang on, (Y/N),” She said, in her classically nonplussed voice. “We’ll get you out of here.” 

“Can everyone just hold on for a second?” You said. “He’s not going to hurt me.” 

But the Gods of Timing were against you as, at that moment, the winged man took a (literal) flying leap, kicking out. Winter threw you to the ground, crossing his arms in front of his face to take the brunt of the attack. The winged man tucked into a role at the last second, tumbling over Winter, lashing out again to land a kick to the back of his head. He landed in front of you, spreading his wings and arms wide in a human wall. 

“Go!” He shouted back. 

Natasha and Clint both took one of your hands, pulling you up. You three ran to the road while Winter and the winged man fought behind you. 

“Just wait a second!” You shook your hands free, stumbling mid-run. “Where have you two been? What is going on? Look, Winter has been helping me, he’s not a threat!” 

“Winter?” Clint echoed. 

“The Winter Soldier,” Natasha started, saying the name dripping with malice. “Is an assassin that murdered the ruling prince and started this whole mess in the first place.” 

Your mouth went dry as ice formed in your stomach. “He what?” 

She sighed in frustration, calming her voice to speak to you patiently. “(Y/N), you’ve been missing for almost a month.” The ice got bigger, spreading to your veins. “We followed you into that rainbow portal and ended up here. The Winter Soldier took you, he kidnapped you. The resistance force found us, they’ve been watching out for us. They can help us all get home.” 

Your mind raced, heart matching. You felt dizzy. He was an assassin? “But… Winter doesn’t remember anything. He has amnesia.” The mood swings, the insistence of keeping you close. But where did you fit in this? Why would he want you around? 

“My Sugar Plum Fairy.” 

“(Y/N),” Natasha said gently, touching your arm to bring you back to the moment. “I know this is all a lot to take in at once, but we have a safe house. We can explain everything there.” 

“The Sugar Plum Fairy!” You blurted out. “Have you heard of her?” 

“That… doesn’t sound real,” Clint chimed in. 

“That’s why Winter took me,” You explained in a rush. “He thinks, or thought, that I was them - the fairy, I mean. He says people are looking for me. He was trying to protect me!”   
Natasha shook her head. “He must have been lying. Look, we can ask the Captain about it, but we need to leave now.” 

“Right now!” Clint shouted. He notched an arrow just as Winter burst from the tree line. Winter knocked it to the side and it exploded at contact with the tree branches, sending a wave of sugar-snow to the ground. The winged man was nowhere to be seen. 

Natasha pulled you back, putting herself and her sword between you and Winter. They clashed, her sword against his metal arm. He twist his arm, grabbing the blade and ripping it from her hand. Clint loosed an arrow, creating a mini-explosion just behind her feet, giving her enough lift to jump up and wrap herself around Winter’s head. Sitting on his shoulders, she wrapped her legs around his neck, pulling tight to strangle him while also bringing her fists down on the crown of his head. He reached back, pulling her up by her waist. She cried out in his grip and you could swear you heard her ribs creeking under the pressure of his restraint. He brought her up and over his head, throwing her bodily against Clint as he notched another arrow. He pulled himself to his full height, stalking towards you with a determination to crush a mountain. 

You put your hands up, the words “assassin” and “murder” ringing through your ears. “Winter, hang on.” You tried to speak softly, but you were afraid your nerves showed through your voice. “Look, these are my friends, okay? We can solve all of this, we just need to talk for a minute.” His demeanor didn’t change. He reached a hand out to you. 

There was a sharp sound that cut through the air. Winter turned abruptly, catching a flying metal disk in mid air as it shot towards him. The impact of the disk sent him sliding back a good foot in the snow. 

The winged man flew overhead, landing next to another man who rose from the snow. The other man was wearing a navy blue military outfit, but you could see extra protection padding underneath the fabric with a star in the center of his chest. His blond hair was close cropped, again reminding you of a military style, and even from this distance you could make out his sharp blue eyes. 

With the shield, Winter spun in place to build up momentum and threw it back at him. The man with the star easily caught it while charging forward. He brought back the shield, swinging his arm forward in a backhanded hit. Winter blocked with his metal arm, but the blow still threw him off his feet. The man swung with the sharp edge of the shield, alternating between throwing punches while Winter ducked and weaved, alternatively jabbing at any opening. 

“Wait, please!” You cried out helplessly. 

The winged man put himself between you and the fight, taking your elbow to guide you away. “I know you’re scared,” He said softly. “Don’t worry, we've got this.” 

Winter’s gaze flashed to the two of you. He ducked under the shield man’s arm, getting ready to dash to you. That gave the man the opening he needed, bringing the edge of the shield down on the unprotected nape of his neck. You shrieked as Winter dropped like a stone. He tried to push himself up once before the man stomped hard on his back. Winter fell face down in the snow. 

You screamed again, willing Winter to get up, to move, in your mind. The shield man startled, looking up and blinking at you as if he hadn't noticed you before. He gave a small salut, coming to attention with the shield at full displayed in front of him. His smile was dazzling. 

“Don’t worry,” He said. “We’re the good guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Duh, duh, duh! 
> 
> Hey, I'm on Tumblr, come say hi!   
> https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/
> 
> PS, I'm running out of relevant Nutcracker music to use as chapter titles! D:


	7. Valse des flocons de neige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's the worst person in the world? It's me! For taking so long to update!  
> I'm really sorry about that. Let's just say that October and November were... not good months. But things are starting to look up! (I hope)   
> I'm really sorry it took so long to update, and I just want to thank everyone who left a comment and read while I was gone. Words can't begin to describe how grateful I am. Your comments, likes, and reads really kept me motivated. (Not to mention helped boost my sense of self-worth.)   
> Thank you all again. I hope you like where I'm going with the story.  
> <3

“Is this really necessary?” Natasha asked. You couldn’t help but agree, tugging against the ropes around your wrists, seeing if maybe this time they would be loose enough for you to squeeze out of. 

After the confrontation at your camp, the Captain, as Natasha and Clint referred to him, had slung the unconscious Winter over Marzipan’s back, hands and feet bound with rope that smelled suspiciously like black licorice. You protested profusely, banding your fists against his shield, eventually having to be pulled away by the man with wings, who you learned was named Sam. With quick and efficient deliberation, the Captain had decided you had been compromised with your isolated time with Winter, and therefore couldn’t be completely trusted. At the very least, he had consented to letting you ride on Marzipan’s back considering your lack of shoes. 

“For the millionth time,” You said. “You have this all wrong.”

“And for the millionth time,” Sam cut in, lazely gliding above you at about 30 feet. “We’re not listening to an accomplice.” 

“She’s not an accomplice!” Natasha agrued. “She’s from where we’re from, remember?” 

Sam crossed his arms. “We can’t know you haven’t been here before.” 

Clint laughed while peeling a chocolate orange. “I wish.” 

The Captain sighed. “Look, we’re almost at our home base, we can discuss things there.” He looked back at you. “I’m sorry about this, but we are in the middle of a war. I can’t take any chances.” You just pressed your lips together and stared back at him, trying to imitate the intense look Natasha was giving. 

You turned to Clint. “What happened back in the ballroom, anyway?” 

“Oh, it was crazy!” Clint exclaimed, offering you a section of chocolate orange. “We lost you at the couch; Nat was freaking out.” Nat? You thought. You couldn't help notice the twitch in her eyebrow when he called her that. “I saw you with the Rat King on his horse. That guy-” He hooked a thumb at Winter. “Tackled you both to the ground. It looked like you hit your head really bad. And there was this really bright light from under the Christmas tree. He just sort of…” Clint replicated the motion. “Threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and then, poof! You both disappeared. Nat couldn’t stop freaking out-” 

“I was not freaking out!” Natasha snapped. “I was worried! I feel like that’s justifiable given the situation!” 

“Nat was worried very loudly,” Clint amended, winking. “She ran into that light and disappeared too. Tony, that fancy kid? He said something about physics and multi-gate theory or something and went after her. And, well,” He shrugged. “I didn’t want to get left out, so I came too. Plus, I wasn’t about to get blamed for all the dead rats in your house when people finally woke up.” 

You couldn’t believe the Sleeping Beauty type curse that had fallen over your home had slipped your mind. The added factor of your family being trapped in slumber while rat soldiers scurried through the halls only intensified the migraine that was spiking through your head. 

“You came after me?” You asked Natasha. 

She looked you straight in the eye when she replied. “Of course. You’re my best friend.” 

The emotional exhaustion finally caught up with you. With a sob that rolled your whole body, you threw yourself from the horse. Natasha caught your waist as you came down. You lifted your bound arms over her head to pull her into an awkward hug. 

“I’m so sorry,” You hiccuped, all the accumulated stress from the past hours (days?) coming apart all at once. “If I had gotten away you wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be trapped and stuck in some war, and I don’t think I’ve had anything to eat but sugar all day and I’m really dehydrated, and I’m sorry about this whole thing and I just wish I could fix it and it’s all my fault, and, and…” You caught your breath, stuttering between tears that just wouldn’t stop. “You’re my best friend too!” 

Natasha pulled you in tight. “Of course I was going to come look for you! And it’s not your fault, none of it is!” 

The boys were awkwardly quiet. Clint tried to break it up with a laugh. “Is this what girls are always like?” 

“Shut up,” You and Natasha hissed. You looked at each other before breaking out in giggles that helped your anxieties melt away. 

Your small party continued along, Natasha filling you in on details of their time in the Land of Sweets. “The three of us came through around the same time,” She said. “We landed by a river, so we just walked along that. Where there’s water, there’s a town, right? After awhile we came across this village that had been completely desolated. Some resistance fighters were salvaging what they could. They sort of…” She trailed off, waving her hand in a circle, trying to come up with the least offensive word. “Captured us. They thought we were spies, I guess. We’ve been here for almost a month, looking for you. Apparently, this isn’t the first time people have been able to travel between our home and the Land of Sweets.” 

“It’s called the Bifrost,” Captain cut in. “A bridge that’s able to extend and retract into different realities. Think of it like a…Like a ship between countries, but in this case it’s completely separate worlds, with their own unique rules.” 

“It doesn’t seem real,” You muttered, kicking some stray sugar snow. You spoke to the Captain. “How do you know so much about it?” 

He was quiet for a stretch. Sam gave him a sideways look. You started to feel like you had overstepped some boundary when he said, “I came through it, a long time ago. That’s how I ended up here. I’m from Brooklyn, originally. New York. People here like to check up on the other worlds every now and then. I-” He stopped again, seemingly trying to decide how much to tell. “I was a sick kid. Almost always laid up in bed with a cold or the flu or something. Asthma, fever, heart trouble, tuberculosis, high blood pressure, you name it, I had it. After my Ma passed they put me in a hospital, expected me to die within a month. Some scouts came through the Bifrost, checking out medical equipment. I managed to sneak past them through the gate and ended up here.” 

You looked up at him from his impressive height, strong arms that could rip a log in two, bright eyes and easy smile. “I never would have guessed.” 

He smiled gently. “They were able to fix me here. Magic can be pretty amazing, can’t it?” 

“So you stayed?” 

“Of course. They saved my life, I owed them everything.” He sighed, putting his hand on his hip. “And now we’re here, dealing with a coup.” He glared at Winter. “And he’s all to blame.” 

“We’re here!” Sam called, swooping up and disappearing into the branches of a massive tree. 

It looked like all the others around you in the densely packed forest. Clint came up and knocked some rhythmic code against the trunk, resulting in a hollow echo from within. The branches shuddered. There was a sound of wood against wood as a rope-and-wood platform elevator was lowered from the canopy. You all piled on, expect for Marzipan, who was tied to an exposed root. You were reassured that someone would come back to take care of him. As the elevator rose, you saw that the majority of the trees that surrounded the middle large one didn’t actually have branches. The tops had been chopped off and then reconstructed into hollow globes containing rooms and walkways linking acres upon acres of the forest together. 

People scurried around in every manner of clothing and color. One girl with cotton candy blue skin walked by in a pastry chef's apron and hat. A boy around Fritz’s age ran past who had candy cane stripped hair. A group of Turkish men, with turbans and polished mustaches, sat cross-legged around a game of what looked to be some form of checkers while sipping coffee. A girl with almond eyes and dark black hair dressed in a red and gold kimono fluttered between trees on jeweled dragonfly wings. 

“Oh, wow,” You gasped. 

Natasha smiled. “Isn’t it just?” You nodded, head swiveling around to try and catch everything at once. She expertly twirled a dagger, slicing through your licorice rope binds. She gave the Captain a sidelong look. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?” 

Six guards, dressed in gingerbread colored uniforms, marched over, saluting to the Captain. They spoke in hushed tones. You noticed other citizens of this tree city had gathered on the edges, whispering to each other and rubbernecking to get a better look. The soldiers grabbed Winter by the elbows, dragging him away. 

Natasha stopped you from following. “Trust me for a minute, okay?” 

With slumped shoulders, you let her pull you away. She showed you around the tree compound, explaining that many of the residents were refugees from the various destroyed candy villages and cities. Everyone seemed to have a job to do. Clint had been showing scouts how to shoot while also helping build elevators by shooting ropes tied to arrows up and over branches. She showed you the canteen, getting you some water, a hunk of cheese, and fluffy yeast roll slathered with butter. You had never been so happy to have something savory. 

The bridges you were walking across suddenly shook with the vibrations of an explosion. You crouched down, holding on to the ropes. “Oh, hey,” Natasha said. “There’s Tony.”   
Tony had chartered his own tree sphere. He had set up his own workshop, strewn with gears, sheet metal, and frayed wires. He stood in the middle talking to two people with fluffy white hair and curly ram’s horns, each holding a bucket of water. 

“For the last time,” He said, annoyed and just barely holding it together. “You don’t throw the water on me unless I’m actually on fire.” The two bleated and gave salutes. “Oh, hey! You’re alive!” Tony said, seeing you and Natasha come in. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, too,” You replied dryly. 

“Yeah, sure, great,” Tony cut you off. “We’re all alive and it’s great, but check this out!” 

Tony extended his arms to his sides, palms perpendicular to the floor, and legs locked straight. He had large, bulky gloves and boots on, more metallic than cloth. With a flick of his wrist, the palms of his gloves began to glow, growing brighter until a directed flame extended from his hand, like a sautoring tool. He began to hover in the air, climbing higher and higher, wobbling but all together keeping his balance. 

“You’re flying!” You said amazed. 

Smirking, he shrugged. Unfortunately, shrugging moved his hand away from its trajectory. Almost immediately, he began to spin off course, desperately flailing his arms and legs to get back on balance. He only succeeded in flying haphazard around the room, finally crashing into a rack of spare parts. 

“I’m okay!” He groaned. One of the ram horned helpers rushed over and tossed the bucket of water over him. “Less okay.” 

You rushed over and helped pull him up from the fallen collection of wrenches and screwdrivers, or whatever engineers used. “How did you do all this?” 

“Oh, you know, wasn’t that hard. Except that it was. This place is practically fifty years behind modern tech. The society was built on,” Tony scoffed. “Magic, is you can believe that. Then something broke, I guess? And they lost it, the magic, I mean.” He shook his head. “People don’t really seem to know what happened, but advancement just sort of stalled.”

“Not having the full picture seems to be a running theme,” You muttered to yourself. 

“You’re not thinking about him again, are you?” Natasha asked, crossing her arms. 

“I’m just saying that it feels like everyone is trying to put together the same puzzle but we all have different pieces! We don’t know what Winter really has to do with this!” 

“Winter in usually when snow happens,” Tony piped up, fiddling with the wires in his glove. “And snow is sugar here. Don’t know if that helps, but…” 

Natasha brushed him off. “We know enough, (Y/N). About him, about what he’s done, about what he can do.” 

You faltered. “I just think-” 

“There is no thinking on this. There are facts that we know. There’s a situation we have to deal with. We’re stuck here, and until this is all solved, that’s how it’s going to stay.” She sighed. “Look, we don’t have access to the Bifrost. Only the royals do, but that’s kind of who we’re going against right now. I’m not going to lie, things aren't looking very good right now. But the fact that we were able to capture the Winter Soldier is a huge jump in the right direction. So, you’ll just have to trust me on this, okay?” She put her hands on your shoulders, making you face her. “You know I know best, right?” 

You pressed your lips together. For as long as you had known her, Natasha had always been on your side. She stood up for you, helped you learn, fought your battles. And that was the root of the problem, wasn’t it? Too many times, you let other people solve your problems for you. And now that there was something in front of you that couldn’t easily be remedied, something that you found yourself strangely and entirely enamored with, you didn’t know how to approach it. You just felt lost, like you didn’t know anything. 

You clenched your fists tight together, biting your bottom lip. “I know, Natasha,” You said. “You know best.” 

She smiled, pulling you in for a hug. “It’s going to get better. I promise.” The falcon you had seen before swooped in. Natasha pulled a rolled up letter from the container on its back. “The Captain needs me,” She said. “I’ve got to go.” She gave you another quick hug before heading off, the falcon soaring after her. 

Not wanting to even attempt to make your way through the maze of an extreme tree fort, you sat down next to Tony’s work bench, watching him and his sheep helpers attempt to fix every bug in his new sci-fi inventions. It mostly ended in smoke, electrical shocks, and buckets of water being dumped on not-fires. 

Eventually, as the sun set, Tony waved away his helpers. “So,” He started. “I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on what you and Natasha were talking about.” 

You laughed a little. “You heard that, huh?” 

He shrugged. “I think you’re right, though. It does feel like we’re missing a lot of information. And I, personally, hate being out of the loop.” He looked around before leaning in and whispering conspiratorially. “So how about we fix that?” 

“What’s your idea?” 

Smiling that Tony Stark smile, he waved you over, lifting up a hatch that lead to a dark staircase circling down a tree trunk. “I don’t think anyone knows about this place,” Tony explained. “That’s why I wanted to make this tree my lab, so I could explore down here.” 

Light filtered down until you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face. Just when you thought you would be walking down in the dark forever, Tony opened a heavy metal door. He fumbled along the wall for a second before flipping a switch. Lights megarly flickered on over head, illuminating down a long passageway that stretched into infinity. 

“Tunnels?” You asked. The tunnels were small, just about five feet across and six feet tall. Railroad tracks make a trail down the tunnels, but they looked old with disuse. 

“I found some records of these in an old journal,” Tony said, leading you down the tunnel. “They’re supposed to run all over the place. But, most importantly, they go right under the palace. And you know what’s in the palace? The biggest library and record keeping firm in the land. Any question we have about this place, what happened to magic, how the Bifrost works, anything, had to have an answer there, right?” 

An idea struck you. “Did that journal say anything about a Sugar Plum Fairy?” 

Tony stopped, looking hard at you. “That… sounds made up.” 

“So does a place called the Land of Sweets where it snows sugar and there are candy cane trees.” 

“Good point!” He pulled out a worn leather bound journal and flipped through it. “I don’t see that exactly, but there is a part here that lists the catalog of new books added to the royal library. See? They have a catalog number then an abbreviated title. This one says ‘SPF.’ That’s got to be it, right? Or they’re really into sun protection here.” 

“Yes!” You grabbed the journal, flipping through it. “So how do we get there? When can we leave? How long does it take?” 

He snatched the journal back. “Whoa, whoa, slow down! I’m working on it. Down here.” He lead you further down the tunnel to a large bulky object covered by a tarp. With a showman’s flourish, he whisked the tarp off, revealing a ramshackled rail car. It looked like a modified coal cart that someone had added a break and bulky engine to. “Ta da!” 

“It…” You started slowly. “Looks like you’re making good progress.” 

“Oh, shut up. I’m almost done with it, but when I am it should be able to take up through the tunnels faster than a horse above ground.” He rapped a knuckle on the engine. It sputtered and clanked. “It’s, ah, not done yet.” 

You eyed the car warily. “How long do you think it will take?” 

“Not sure. The resistance or rebellion or whatever they call themselves has had me working on their stuff almost non-stop. Theoretically, it can move. But it could also explode. So…” 

“Tony, this is amazing! Did Great Uncle Drosselmeyer teach you this stuff?” 

Tony’s eyebrows knit together. He looked puzzled and frustrated. “Yeah, about him. How exactly are you related to Drosselmeyer, again?” 

You thought, trying to draw a family tree in your mind. “He’s from my father’s side, I’m pretty sure. The brother of my father’s father? I’ve never met my Grandfather, though. Why do you ask?” 

Tony rubbed his arms like he was cold. “I don’t know, it’s just… He seemed sort of weird, you know? And after all of this, it just makes me think.” 

You took a step closer. “Weird like how?” 

“Well, pretty much the first place we went to after he picked me up was your place. And while we were traveling there he was always tinkering with those dolls, your Winter Soldier, or whatever. I’d wake up in our train car in the middle of the night and he’d just be hovering over them, muttering something. It all seemed sinister, somehow.” 

“Sure, Great Uncle Drosselmeyer did have Winter,” You admitted. “But I don’t see how he could fit into the rest of this. He’s always been so good to me.” 

“Weren’t you the one who said this whole thing was like putting together a puzzle with missing pieces?” 

You conceded. “I guess you’re right. Maybe… I just don’t want to think that he could have anything to do with something so… so…” 

“Terrible? Aweful? Traumatic? Ghastly?” Tony offered with a smile to cut through the tension. 

“I was thinking disquieting, but those can work too, I guess.”

You helped Tony cover up the car and he chatted excitedly about plans to fix it, throwing around terms that you could only begin to guess the meaning of. You headed back up the trunk, hiding the entrance latch. By the time you came back to the workshop, you could smell something hot and spicy brewing from another tree sphere. At the canteen, you sat with Tony, Clint, and Natasha, devouring bowls of curry that warmed you to your core. 

While you ate, you formulated your plan. You tried to picture the outline of the palace, even though you have never even seen the outside before. You created scenarios in which you would hide from rat guards or trick them into investigating an area far from where you were. You imagined the library, with a large tome on a pedestal in the middle of the room that would tell you all about the Sugar Plum Fairy and what she had to do with you or this place. 

You thought about Winter, locked who knows where in this fortress. You thought of clearing his name from whatever he had been accused of, unlocking his hidden memories, of dancing with him again in a beautiful ballroom, your hand in his, feeling like you were floating on air as he spun you around in front of a gathering of envious and amazed onlookers…

Wait, what? No you didn’t. You shook your head, getting rid of that last thought. Even if the warm feeling in your heart and the image of a sparkling dance wouldn’t completely go away. 

After dinner, Natasha lead you to a barracks where she and a number of other female soldiers slept. She negotiated with one to get you the bunk below hers. She had even managed to get you a pair of boots, no matter how much their rough practicality clashed with your delicate ballet dress. 

Curling under your blanket, you drifted off, head filling with plans of infiltration and espionage, of truth and secrets, of balls and strong hands.

 

Far below you, the Winter Soldier awoke.

 

Far below him, a rat chewed at a tree root.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the chapter. Please like and/or comment! <3  
> Hey, come see me on Tumblr! https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/


	8. Le Voyage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Happy New Year! One of my resolutions for this year was to be nicer to myself, so I'm not going to talk about how long it took to get this up cause that'll just make me sad. On that note, thanks to everyone who's been giving kudos and messages while I've been away. I'm trying to write two pages a day, so hopefully this new scheduled will make updates a little more frequent.   
> Thanks again, and enjoy reading!

They put you to work right away. Your days were filled with carrying messages, boxes of supplies, and strategy maps from one side of the forest-spanning fortress to the other, up and down trunks and branches to every leaf. Your nights were just as busy. After calling lights out, you would sneak out of your barracks room that you and Natasha shared with at least thirty other girls to meet Tony down in the tunnels. Although you had no where near the engineering knowledge he did, you helped where you could. Mostly, you sat up with him by lamp light, reading scraps of information and books you had squirreled away during during you carrier duties. 

The hard part was trying to piece together a solid order of events from messages and old texts. While you were able to get a relatively good idea of the goings on and plans of the resistance, including knowing that the Rat King had completely taken the capital city and a majority of the surrounding areas, they were woefully lacking in any indication of how this predicament came about. 

The facts, as you knew them, were these: 

Sixteen years ago, magical progress in the Land of Sweets had abruptly stopped. What exactly that meant was still vaguely unclear, but from what you understood, it would be equal to coal suddenly not being able to power ships or trains, gas not flowing through lines to light your home. 

This, as could be expected, caused a mass panic. 

The previous leader of the Land of Sweets, the one who the Rat King had dethroned, was named Prince James. Prince James had been in the middle of an extensive search on what he believed to be the disappearance of magic, although no one seemed to know what his theories were. 

Lastly, the Rat King, a prince himself called Thor, was from a place called Asgard, another kingdom across the sea from the Land of Sweets. An event, that may or may not be related to the disappearance of magic, forced the Asgarden people from their home. After Prince James’ disappearance, the Rat King had stepped in, taking power. 

What you haven't been able to find out, much to your frustration, was the link between Winter and Prince James’ supposed death. Not that you haven't tried. 

“Captain!” 

You could see the Captain's shoulders stiffen and then slump in defeat as you called out to him. To give him credit, he did manage a smile as he turned to greet you. 

“Good morning, (Y/N). The answer is still no.” 

In the mits of your on the sly research, you had also been bothering the Captain every day if you could go see Winter down in the holding cells. At the very least you thought you should be granted that. You tried to convince him that you could pull out some previously unknown information, but considering he knew that your main motive was to clear Winter’s name, he was less than enthusiastic. Not to mention the problems with letting a civilian down into a prisoner holding cell. 

You tried to fake laugh. “That’s not what I was going to ask.” 

He quirked an eyebrow and smirked. “No? Then by all mean, what were you going to say?” 

You floundered for a second, quickly coming up with a new excuse. “Do you… have anything to deliver?” 

He gave a breathy laugh. “Maybe. But whenever I give you a message to run base, it always seems to arrive there late. Why is that, do you think?” 

You gulped. Had he figured out you information gathering? Did he know about Tony’s railcar? No, if he knew that, it would have been shut down immediately, the tunnels filled in, right? 

Trying to deflect from the secret escape, you said, “I wouldn’t have to read people’s mail if anyone bothered to tell me what was going on.” 

“I’m pretty sure that a crime even in our world, (Y/N).” He looked up, deliberating something in his head. Coming to a decision, he looked at you and said, “Follow me,” almost resigned in the inevitability of it all. 

Captain led you to a makeshift war room littered with maps and tokens representing allies and enemies. One whole wall was stacked with cages with falcons, always coming in and out with messages. Off the side of the war room was a smaller office-type area. A cot was shoved to the side. Clearly, sleeping wasn’t the important thing here.

Going to the large desk at the back of the room, Captain unlocked a bottom drawer pulling out something small. He held it in a tight fist before setting it down on the desktop. It was a man’s ring, large and gold with a strange seal embossed where a gem would normally go - a signante ring. 

“This,” The Captain said, voice low and serious. “Was found on Prince James’ severed arm in the Switchback Mountain range. It’s… it’s all that was left of him.” 

The air suddenly felt ten times as heavy. Captain seemed to want to look anywhere but the ring. The overwhelming guilt on your heart for making him revisit the dismemberment and death of his friend was cut short, however, (‘That seems horrible,’ you thought) when you fully processed what he said. 

“You just found his arm?” You asked, unable to think of a more tactful way to say it. 

The Captain nodded. “There were signs of a fight, of course. He had been missing for a little over a week before then. We were able to track his movements down to the mountains, but after that…” He took a deep breath. Picking up the ring, he tapped it on the desk a few times, nervous energy building up in his broad shoulders. “As soon as we found… his remains, the Winter Soldier attacked. It was an ambush. He used my friend’s body as bait.” He bit off the last word. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” You said. However, only half of your attention was on the Captain and his obvious distress. The other half was whirring as wheels fell into place. 

He smiled, but you could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “Thank you. But I hope now you’ll start to see what stakes we’re fighting for. What worries me more is that the Winter Soldier was planning to take you to the same mountain range.” He leaned forward. “I don’t suppose he ever told you why you were heading that direction?” 

You shook your head. “He said he remembered something about the mountains. We were just trying to see if anything could get him his memory back.” 

The Captain hummed, not quite believing it. “I see. Well, if that’s everything you need then.” You saluted, which still felt acted and awkward, and left the room. 

You needed to find Tony. You needed to get to the palace tonight. 

 

~~~

 

“Run that by me again?” Tony said. He pushed up his welding mask, face streaked with oil and grease, hands made three times larger in heavy cloth gloves. 

Taking a breath, you said it again, enunciating each word carefully. “I think Winter is Prince James.” 

Tony looked at you for a long moment. “So that’s what a sugar diet does to you; you go crazy.” He pulled his mask back down and went to work on the railcar. 

You marched over, flicking off the switch that powered the welding tool. “Think about it,” You said. “Winter can’t remember anything but the mountains. Prince James disappeared in the mountains. Winter lost his arm. All they found of Prince James was the same arm Winter lost.” 

He sighed, leaning against the car and pushing his mask up again. “And?” 

“And,” You stumbled. “And that’s all I have right now. But it’s a start!” 

“Okay, how did he turn to wood? How did he end up in Russia? Moreover, how did Drosselmeyer end up with him?” 

“I… haven’t gotten that far yet. I thought you didn’t trust Great Uncle Drosselmeyer?” 

Tony pressed his lips into a hard line. “I don’t. And you wouldn’t either if you put as much thought into it as you have this conspiracy.” 

You crossed your arms. “It’s not that easy to think badly of your family.” 

Tony grabbed a wrench and tightened a bolt. “Maybe not for you.” 

You wanted to bite your tongue. You slide down the tunnel wall to sit. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’ll admit I do think he has a role in all of this, how else would he end up with Winter? But I just can’t accept that he’s the cause. A civil war, the loss of an entire source of energy, a missing/dead prince? One person can’t be responsible for all that, can they?” 

Softly, not looking up, Tony said, “You’d be surprised what people can do.” 

You hugged your knees to your chest. Neither of you spoke as Tony kept working on the car. As a peace offering, Tony handed back a screwdriver without looking at you. Over your working nights, he had taught you basic building and repair in an effort to speed up progress. Smiling, you took it and went to the seats, screwing panels back on twisted wires and installing lights. You handed him a rag to wipe off his face. He threw it back at you with a smile and you shrieked laughing at the grease. 

Shortly after, Tony stood, leaning back until you could hear his spine crack. “And now,” He said. “The moment of truth.” 

You took a few steps back, holding the lid of a trash can in front of your chest, just in case. Tony flipped a few switches. The lights at the front of the car flickered to life, growing brighter over a few minutes. Taking a deep breath, he firmly grasped the pull for the engine. Yanking it once, twice, three times, the engine sputtered before going silent. Grunting, Tony yanking the cord back one more time, violently. The engine roared, rattling the whole railcar before settling into a gentle purr. Tony cheered, punching the air. You clapped excitedly. 

“You did it!” You cheered. 

“Yeah, well,” Tony said with mock humility. “You helped a little.” 

You playfully punched his arm. Scrambling past him, you jumped into the seat of the car that you had re-purposed from a broken plush chair upstairs. 

“Wait, we’re going now?” Tony asked. 

“Of course we’re going now! When else would we go?”

“A reasonable hour? It must be two in the morning by now.” 

“Wouldn’t that be the best time to break in? When everyone is asleep?” 

Tony shrugged. He jogged to the other side of the room, fastening on his hand pulsers and flying boots. You winced. “Are you sure those are safe? Didn’t they almost electrocute you last time?” 

“Ha, I fixed the bugs.” The left glove jerked, fingers going taught as the pulser in the palm glowed before blinking out. “... Most of them. No time like the present!” He climbed in next to you, releasing the break and stepping on the gas pedal. The railcar jerked forward a few times before gliding down the rails, cutting through the dark. You two were in your own little bubble of lights, everything ahead and behind you by about seven feet impenetrably dark. You only had to stop the car a few times to clear blockages of roots or fallen rocks from the tracks. At some point, Tony nodded off beside you and you took control of managing the controls. Every once and awhile, you noticed small metal plaques bolted to the sides of the tunnels from when they had still been in use, indicating where you were or where to go. Caldwell Mines, National Bank (“No, Tony, we can’t rob a bank”), Switchback Mountains base camp, and so on. 

After about two hours of slow and steady travel, you eased the car to a stop. On the wall next to you was a plaque stating Royal Palace. You gently shook Tony awake, nodding at the plaque. He turned the car off and you both silently crept to the door next to the plaque. A partly rusted padlock had been placed there, one that was quickly evaporated with a blast of Tony’s pulsar. 

“We had a bolt cutter in the car,” You reminded him. 

“But this is more fun!” He grinned. You had to admit, it was a little fun. 

You both had to pull the door open as it shrilled on rusted hinges. You took the lead up the dark staircase, holding up a small hand lantern that had been in Tony’s workshop. Traveling up and up, much farther up than you had to at the tree house, you both finally came upon the door. It was more like a half door, barley coming up to your waist. You supposed it was meant to be hidden, so making the entrance smaller would definitely help with that. 

You looked back over your shoulder. “Ready?” 

Tony shrugged. “We’re kind of past asking that by now, aren't we?” 

You smiled, nodding once definitely. You blew out the light in the lantern, crouched down, and pushed open the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a Tumblr, come say hi!   
> https://theghostinthekitchen.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think! <3


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